Ferdy Rothman lolled back in a chair, with one arm thrown over the top rail after the fashion of Henry D. Feldman's imitation of Judge Blatchford's portrait in the United States District Courtroom.
"Well, young man," he said in pompous accents, "how go the busy marts of trade these days?"
Milton surveyed him in scornful amazement.
"Hire a hall!" he said, and returned to the sample-room. It lacked half an hour of closing time, and during that period Milton avoided Miss Levy's office.
At length Ferdinand Rothman and his father went home, and Milton once more approached Miss Levy.
"Say, Miss Levy," he said, "who's that curly-haired young feller? Ain't he the one I seen you dancing with last night?"
"Sure he is," Miss Levy replied.
"I thought he was," Milton commented. "And wasn't he one of them—now—floor managers?"
"Ain't you nosy?" Miss Levy answered as she swept all the torn paper on her desk into her apron.
"Well, wasn't he?" Milton insisted.