He felt sure that the fifteen dollars a week would provoke some show of interest, and he was not mistaken.
"Well, I can work as hard as the next one," Milton cried. "Why don't you take me down there and give me a show to get the job?"
Mr. Zwiebel looked at his wife with an elaborate assumption of doubtfulness.
"What could I say to a young feller like that, mommer?" he said. "Mind you, I want to help him out. I want to make a man of him, mommer, but all the time I know how it would turn out."
"How could you talk that way, popper?" Mrs. Zwiebel pleaded. "The boy says he would do his best. Let him have a chance, popper."
"All right," he said heartily; "for your sake, mommer, I will do it. Milton, lieben, put on your coat and hat and we will go right down to Rothman's place."
When Mr. Zwiebel and Milton entered the sample-room of Levy Rothman & Co., three quarters of an hour later, Mr. Rothman was scanning the Arrival of Buyers column in the morning paper.
"Ah, Mr. Rothman," Zwiebel cried, "ain't it a fine weather?"
"I bet yer it's a fine weather," Rothman agreed, "for cancellations. We ain't never had such a warm November in years ago already."
"This is my boy Milton, Mr. Rothman, what I was talking to you about," Zwiebel continued.