Izzy, he's a third assistant in the stock department, and on twelve a week he sports one of those striped green overcoats and a plush hat with the bow behind. Maybe he wouldn't be listed as a home destroyer; but he has a flossy way with him and he goes around a lot. About the second week I sees him and the new girl gettin' chummier and chummier, and, while she still has a jolly for me now and then, I knows I'm only a side issue. That's what hurt most. So what fool play must I make but go and plunge on a sixty-cent box of mixed choc'lates for her!
As luck would have it, Mr. Robert spots me comin' out of the 23d-st. candy shop with the package under my arm. You wouldn't think he'd notice a little clew like that, or pick me up on it; but he does.
"How now, Torchy?" says he. "Sweets to the sweet, eh?"
"Uh-huh," says I, and I guess I colors up some.
"What is the fair one's name?" says he.
"Tessie," says I.
"Ah!" says he. "Thus were they ever named: Tessie, Juliet, and Helen of Troy. They're all one. My envious sympathy, Torchy, and may the gods be kind!"
Which is only the brand of hot air Mr. Robert blows off whenever he has a good lunch under his vest and nothin' heavy on his mind. It don't mean anything at all.
"Troy!" says I. "Can it! This ain't for no up-State laundry hand. She comes from Eighth-ave."
Well, I stows the box away until closin' time, and then waits around the upper corridor for Tessie to show up. Izzy, he spots me and proceeds to improve the time by givin' me an earache about what an important party he is, how he expects to be jumped a notch soon, and about how much he makes nights on the outside, followin' up some checkroom snap or other.