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Updated: May 19, 2025
They would lie there, the two old ones, talking comfortably about commonplace things. "Remind me to see Gerson to-morrow about that lock on the basement door. The paper's full of burglars." "If I think of it." She never failed to. "George and Nettie haven't been over in a week now." "Oh, well, young folks.... Did you stop in and pay that Koritz the fifty cents for pressing your suit?"
Koritz, dark, undersized, with the eyes of an Oriental and the lean, sensitive fingers of one who creates, shivered a little, like a plant that is swept by an icy blast. Buck came over and laid one hand on his wife's shaking shoulder. "Emma, you're overtired! This this thing you've been slaving over has been too much for you."
"Sure," assented Koritz, head designer; "but when you get it cut you'll find this piece is wasted, ain't it?" He marked out a triangular section of cloth with one expert forefinger. "No; that works into the ruffle," explained Emma. "Here, I'll cut it. Then you'll see."
It makes me groan to think of the number of Elzevirs that are lost in the libraries of rich parvenus who know nothing of and care no thing for the treasures about them further than a certain vulgar vanity which is involved. When Catherine of Russia wearied of Koritz she took to her affection one Kimsky Kossakof, a sergeant in the guards.
With one hand, Emma reached up and patted the fingers that rested protectingly on her shoulder. With the other, she wiped her eyes, then, all contrition, grasped the slender brown hand of the offended Koritz. "Bennie, please forgive me! I I didn't mean to laugh. I wasn't laughing at your new skirt." "You think it's too wide, maybe, huh?" Bennie Koritz said, and held it up doubtfully. "Too wide!"
The head designer came forward timidly with a skirt that measured a yard around the bottom. Emma looked at it, tried to keep her lower lip prisoner between her teeth, failed, and began to laugh helplessly, almost hysterically. Amazement in the faces of Buck and Koritz, the designer, became consternation, then, in the designer, resentment.
"Bennie, you're a true artist because you're big enough to praise the work of a fellow craftsman when you recognize its value." And Koritz, the dull red showing under the olive of his cheeks, went back to his cutting-table happy. Buck bent forward, eagerly. "You're going to tell me now, Emma? It's finished?" "To-night at home. I want to be the first to try it on. I'll play model.
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