He looked exceedingly hurt and voiced his indignation with a tremendous whoop, the forerunner of a dozen minor whoops which shaded off into a succession of wheezes. It seemed to Max and Sam that Aaron would never succeed in catching his breath, and just when he appeared to be at his ultimate gasp Miss Meyerson ran up with a tablespoon. She snatched the bottle from Max's grasp and, tearing off the wrapping paper, she drew the cork and poured a generous dose.
"Take this right now," she commanded, pressing the spoon to Aaron's lips. With a despairing glance at Max he swallowed the medicine, and immediately afterward made a horrible grimace.
"T'phooee!" he cried. "What the—what are you trying to do—poison me?"
"That won't poison you," Miss Meyerson declared. "It'll do you good. All he needs is about six more doses, Mr. Fatkin, and he'd be rid of that cough in no time."
Max nodded.
"Miss Meyerson is right, Aaron," he said. "You ought to take care of yourself."
Aaron wiped his eyes and his moustache with his handkerchief.
"You ain't got maybe a little schnapps in your desk, Max?" he said.
"Schnapps is the worst thing you could take, Mr. Pinsky," Miss Meyerson cried. "Don't give him any, Mr. Fatkin; it'll only make him worse."
She shook her head warningly at Aaron as she and Sam walked back to the office.