At the end of her list she was out thirty-five cents and had no information, which hardly improved her irascible disposition.
Chapter III
Traffic rumbled past the busy intersection at the corner. Pedestrians returning from lunch streamed across the street in intermittent rivulets of moving humanity. The bells on the automatic block signals clanged with monotonous regularity at fixed intervals. Occasional streetcars grinding past to the accompaniment of clanging gongs added to the noise of automobile traffic, the clashing of gears, the sound of engines as they were intermittently speeded up or braked to a stop.
The day was warm and sunny, and the smell of exhaust gases clung to the concrete canyon of the streets in a sticky vapour.
Kosling sat in a little patch of shade in front of the bank building, his legs doubled under him, his stock of neckties displayed in a tray suspended by a strap from his shoulders. Over on the left on a smaller tray were the lead pencils. At occasional intervals a coin jangled into the tin cup. Less frequently someone stopped to look at the assortment of ties.
Kosling knew his merchandise by a sense of touch and a keen memory for its position on the tray. “Now this tie is very nice for a young man, madam,” he would proclaim, touching a vivid bit of red silk, splashed with white and crossed with black stripes. “Over here is something very nice in a deep blue, and here’s a checkered effect which would make a splendid gift. Here’s something that goes very nicely with a sport outfit, and—”
He broke off as his ears heard the pound of Bertha Cool’s determined feet on the sidewalk.
“Yes, ma’am, I think you’ll be satisfied with that one. Yes, ma’am, fifty cents is all. Just drop it in the cup, please. Thank you.”
Because the man couldn’t see he didn’t look up as Bertha bent over the tray. “Well?” he asked.
Bertha bent down. “No progress,” she said, “as yet.”