"Say something more about that young lady," he cried, "and I'll kick you to the subway yet."
It was nearly half-past twelve when Charles Zwiebel entered the sample-room of Levy Rothman & Co., on Eighteenth Street. He descried Milton in his shirt sleeves extolling the merits of one of Rothman's stickers to a doubtful customer from Bradford County, Pennsylvania.
"Hello, pop!" Milton cried. "Too busy to talk to you now. Take a seat."
"Where's Rothman?" Zwiebel asked.
"Out to lunch," Milton replied. "I'll be through in a minute."
Zwiebel watched his son in silence until the sale was consummated, and after Milton had shaken the departing customer's hand he turned to his father.
"Well, pop," he said, "this is the first time you've been up here since I've been here, ain't it?"
Zwiebel nodded.
"I wish I would of come up here before," he said. "Say, Milton, who is this here Miss Levy what works here?"
Milton blushed.