"Try it on me," Miss Levy said, extending her arm. "It's just my size."
"You couldn't wear no misses' reefer," Feigenbaum said ungallantly. "You ain't so young no longer."
Milton scowled, but Miss Levy passed it off pleasantly.
"You wouldn't want to pay for all the garments in misses' sizes that fit me, Mr. Feigenbaum," she retorted as she struggled into the coat. "My sister bought one just like this up on Thirty-fourth Street, and maybe they didn't charge her anything, neither. Why, Mr. Feigenbaum, she had to pay twenty-two fifty for the precisely same garment, and I could have got her the same thing here for ten dollars, only Mr. Rothman wouldn't positively sell any goods at retail even to his work-people."
Mr. Feigenbaum examined the garment closely while Miss Levy postured in front of him.
"And maybe you think the design and workmanship was better?" she went on. "Why, Mr. Feigenbaum, my sister had to sew on every one of the buttons, and the side seams came unripped the first week she wore it. You could take this garment and stretch it as hard as you could with both hands, and nothing would tear."
Milton nodded approvingly, and then Miss Levy peeled off the coat and handed it to Feigenbaum.
"Look at it yourself," she said; "it's a first-class garment."
She nudged Milton.
"Dummy!" she hissed, "say something."