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Updated: May 12, 2025
Lessauer I meet sometimes at Epstein's fish store you know the rich sausage-casings Lessauers she says to me this morning, she says with her sweetness full of such a meanness, like it was knives in me 'Me and my son and daughter-in-law was coming out of a movie last night and we saw your son getting into a taxicab with such a blonde in a red hat! The way she said it, Mosher, like a cat licking its whiskers 'such a blonde in a red hat'!"
He grinned amiably, then regarded me with a shrewd eye and demanded if I had been drinking. "This," I said; "I am drunk with this," and held the card up to him. But when he took it interestedly he merely read the obverse side which I had not observed until now. "Go to Epstein's for Everything You Wear," it said in large type, and added, "The Square Deal Mammoth Store."
"But, see here, my boy," said the manager, "there's big money in it for you say " William, however, was already at the door, and Whimple, not wholly understanding what lay behind Epstein's murmured, "Sorry but I'll have to explain later," followed him. The manager was talking now to Tommy. "Flo Dearmore wants to see you, Mr. Watson," he said. "Do you know her?" Tommy nodded.
They saw the effort and its failure, and understood both. With a gesture of hopelessness, he turned his back toward them, and stood with sagging muscles and eyes fixed on the empty grate. Epstein's nerves snapped. "For God's sake, Devon," he begged, "cut out the vaits! Tell us vot you got on your chest, and tell it quick." Laurie turned and once more met his eyes.
The strain of even the brief delay was too much for Epstein's endurance. High-strung, his nerves on edge, almost before Laurie had turned he sputtered forth questions like bullets from a machine-gun. "Vell! vell!" he demanded, "vot's it all about? Vot's it mean? Over the telephone you say you got to see us this minute. You say you got into trouble, big trouble. Vell, vot trouble? Vot is it?"
"It has been earnestly recommended to the young as a good time to start something." "Vell," Epstein's voice took on the guttural notes of his temperamental moments, "don't that mean nothin' to you?" Laurie grinned. He had caught the quick look of warning Bangs shot at the producer and it amused him. "Not yet," he said. "Not till I've had my adventure." Epstein sniffed.
Scarlet poinsettias aren't worn, anyhow. To this day I don't know whether the heroine married the hero or jumped overboard. You see, one can't be too careful about clothing one's heroine. I hesitate to describe Sophy Epstein's dress. You won't like it. In the first place, it was cut too low, front and back, for a shoe clerk in a downtown loft.
"I'm a foolish old maid. You are right about William, but, sometimes, those who have lost much dream pleasant dreams and build fairy castles for those who help to make their sorrow easier to bear." And then they talked of other things, of William's future, of Epstein's success, of Tommy Watson's boy.
Among the museums that were veritable gold mines, I might mention Epstein's of Chicago; Brandenberg's of Philadelphia; Moore's of Detroit and Rochester; The Sackett and Wiggins Tour; Kohl and Middleton's; Austin and Stone's of Boston; Robinson of Buffalo; Ans Huber's, Globe, Harlem, Worth's, and the Gayety of New York.
Epstein's meat market throws in free suet. The lamp with the opal-silk shade for Marcia's piano. White oilcloth is cleaner than shelf paper. Dotted Swiss curtains, the ones in Marcia's room looped back with pink bows. Old sashes, pressed out and fringed at the edges.
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