Suddenly Miss Levy brightened up.
"Mr. Zwiebel is in," she announced. "Maybe he would do."
"Mr. Zwiebel?" Feigenbaum repeated. "All right, Zwiebel oder Knoblauch, it don't make no difference to me. I want to look at some of them misses' reefers."
"Mis-ter Zwiebel," Miss Levy called, and in response Milton entered.
"This is one of our customers, Mr. Zwiebel," she said, "by the name Mr. Henry Feigenbaum."
"How are you, Mr. Feigenbaum?" Milton said with perfect self-possession. "What can I do for you to-day?"
He dug out one of Charles Zwiebel's Havana seconds from his waistcoat-pocket and handed it to Feigenbaum.
"It looks pretty rough," he said, "but you'll find it all O.K., clear Havana, wrapper, binder, and filler."
"Much obliged," Feigenbaum said. "I want to look at some of them misses' reefers."
Miss Levy winked one eye with electrical rapidity and gracefully placed her hand on the proper rack, whereat Milton strode over and seized the garment.