“I think I can make these into some nice paper roses—if I remember how they taught us to do it in kindergarten,” she said. “That ought to brighten the place up!”
Amy found some white paper plates with rosebuds to match the napkins, but as the girls started to search for more things to make the party, the owner of the shop began to turn off the lights, throw dust-covers over fixtures, and generally make it clear that his patience was at an end.
“I guess that’s really all we’ll need, Amy,” Peggy said nervously. “I think that we’d better get going.”
Thanking the shopkeeper for staying open for them, they paid for their purchases and left. The owner left with them, turned the lock in the door, and with a curt nod briskly strode down the street.
“Gee, we just made it,” Peggy said with a grin. “If we had taken ten seconds more, I think he would have locked us in the store for the night!”
Farther down the street, a delicatessen store shed a bright glow on the nearly deserted sidewalk. Peggy and Amy made their way to it as if it were a beacon marking the way to a friendly port.
Nothing in the world is more delightfully confusing than an old-fashioned delicatessen in New York. There is a special quality to the very smell of the place; it is a compound of every good thing to eat, and so complex a perfume that it is almost impossible to isolate the elements that make it up. One can detect clearly the briny smell of pickles, and on second sniff, the rich harmonies of imported cheeses, but beyond that, it would take the most sensitive nose in the world to analyze the atmosphere. And as you walk through the store from front to back, the odor changes, becomes alternately richer, lighter, sharper, sweeter, spicier or more pungent.
The store was so narrow, and the man behind the counter so wide, that Peggy had to suppress a little giggle, wondering how on earth he managed to squeeze himself in. With a broad grin and a welcoming gesture that threatened to sweep the counter clean of its load of little jars, boxes, and tins, he said, “Good evening, ladies! What can I do for you?”
“I don’t know.” Peggy smiled. “You’ve got so much here that I scarcely know where to begin.”
“Tell me your problem,” the man said in a confidential, professional manner. “We specialize in catering for all kinds of events. Just tell me what you have in mind, and let me do the selecting.”