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Updated: June 27, 2025
Miss Dobriner tapped a finger against her too red lips. "Seventy dollars net for a baby-carriage!" "Yes'm, and a bargain at that. If he was home he'd show you the books hisself and the prices we get." "Seventy dollars for a baby-carriage! For that, Phonzie, you can buy the kid a taxi."
He plunged his hands into his pockets and paced the narrow aisle down the center of the room. "We got to get that carriage over there to-night if if we have to wheel it over!" Miss Dobriner clapped her hands in an ecstasy of inspiration. "Good! We'll wheel it home. We can make it by midnight. What you bet?" He turned upon her, but with a ray in his eyes.
Gertie Dobriner patted her ringed fingers against her mouth to press back a yawn and trailed across the room, adjusting her hat before a full-length mirror. In the light from a single electric bulb her hair showed three colors yellow gold, green gold, and, toward the roots, the dark gold of old bronze. "You can go now, Gert." "Yes, madam." Miss Dobriner adjusted a spray of curls.
Alphonse Michelson slid into a tan, rain-proof coat, turning up the collar and buttoning across the flap, then fell to pacing the thick-nap carpet. From a mauve-colored telephone-booth emerged Miss Gertie Dobriner, flushed from bad service and from bad air. "Whew!" "Get her?" "Sure I got her. Is it such a stunt to get an address from a customer?" "Good!"
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