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"Lillian Russell is going to wear it in the second act of her new play when she opens to-morrow night." "I guess we're slow in here," chuckled Mrs. Schlimberg, nudging Mr. Arnheim with the point of her elbow. Miss Sternberger spread the square train of a flame-colored robe full length on the green carpet and drew back a corner of the hem to display the lacy avalanche beneath.
"How do you do?" said Miss Sternberger. "How do you do?" said Mr. Arnheim. "Miss Sternberger is like you, Mr. Arnheim she's always out after novelties; and I will say for her she don't miss out! She put out a line of uncut velvets last winter that was the best sellers we had." Mr. Arnheim bowed. Mrs. Schlimberg turned to Miss Sternberger.
I'm puttin' some made-in-America models in the import-room to-day that will open your eyes." Mr. Arnheim laughed and opened his portfolio. "I'll show you these till my trunks come up," he said. "Just a minute, Arnheim. I want to show you some stuff Miss Sternberger!" Mrs. Schlimberg raised her voice slightly, "Miss Sternberger!"
Then she bowed slightly and turned toward the door. Mrs. Schlimberg laid a detaining hand on her sleeve. "Just a minute, Miss Sternberger. Mr. Arnheim's brought in some models he wants us to look at." Physics can answer whence goes the candle-flame when it vanishes into blackness and what becomes of sound when the great maw of silence digests it.
Mrs. Schlimberg turned to a second model. "Look at this here ratine cutaway. If the Phoebe Snow ain't the talk of New York before next week, then I don't know my own name. Ain't it so, Miss Sternberger?" Miss Sternberger ran her smooth hand over the lace shoulder of the gown. "This is a great seller," she replied, smiling at Mr. Arnheim.
Simon Arnheim, a red portfolio under one arm, walked into the mahogany, green-carpeted, soft-lighted establishment of an importing house on Fifth Avenue. Mrs. S.S. Schlimberg, senior member, greeted him in her third-floor office behind the fitting-rooms. "Well, well! Wie geht's, Arnheim? I thought it was gettin' time for you." Mr. Arnheim shook hands and settled himself in a chair beside the desk.
She's done more for the house in eight months than Miss Isaacs did in ten years!" Miss Sternberger returned; a stock-boy wheeled in the new models on wooden figures while Mrs. Schlimberg and her new designer arranged them for display. Mrs. Schlimberg turned to Mr. Arnheim. "How's the wife and boys, Arnheim?
"You know you can always depend upon me, madame, to look you up the minnit I get back. Don't I always give you first choice?" Mrs. Schlimberg weighed a crystal paper-weight up and down in her pudgy, ringed hands. "None of your fancy prices for me this season, Arnheim. There's too many good things lyin' loose. That's why I got my openin' a month sooner.
"Miss Sternberger, will you bring in some of those new models that are going like hot cakes? Just on the forms will do." "Certainly." She disappeared from the doorway. Mrs. Schlimberg tapped her forefinger on the desk. "There's the finest little designer we've ever had! I got her off a Philadelphia house, and I 'ain't never regretted the money I'm payin' her.
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