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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Don't I know it, Mrs. Schump! I always say if ever a girl would make some nice-earning, steady fellow a good wife, it's " "Good wife'! That ain't the name! Why, Cora, for ten years that child has lifted me on my bad days and carried me and babied me like I was a queen. It's nothing for her to rub me two hours straight. Not a day before she leaves for work that she don't come to me and "
"I'd be pleased to have you come to " "I told the little wifey last night, 'Angel Face, I've found a pair of goo-goos that are a close runner-up to yours." Miss Schump turned to her first customer of the day, the flush receding as suddenly as it had come to scorch. "Copper toes for the little boy? Just be seated, please."
Once, returning after a fruitless tour of the smaller department stores, and borne along by the six-o'clock tide of Sixth Avenue, her heart leaped up at sight of Miss Cora Kinealy, homeward bound on her smart tall heels that clicked, arm in arm with Mabel Runyan of the notions. Standing there with her folded newspaper hugged to her and the small hand-bag dangling, Stella Schump gazed after.
"Going on a long journey, and a fellow about my size and complexion is going along with you, and there's money coming " "Sure hot!" It was then Miss Schump, with fear of a rather growing and sickening sense of dizziness and of the wavy and unstable outline of things, slipped quietly and unobtrusively out into the hallway, her craving for air not to be gainsaid.
In the pyramidal plot-structure of this story the line of descent is by far the sheerer. Short-story correspondence-schools would call it the brief downward action leading to denouement. With Stella Schump it was almost a straight declivity. There were days of the black kind of inertia when to lift the head from its sullen inclination to rest chin on chest was not to be endured.
'Cora Jones, she said." Through the smoke of her bewilderment something irate stirred within Miss Schump, a smouldering sense of anger that burst out into a brief tongue of flame. "You! You! You're no amachure! Cora Jones! Cora Kinealy! Go tell it to the great Danes! Say it again! Gimme leave! Gimme leave!" The immediate peremptoriness of the gavel set her to blinking, but did not silence.
In Stuyvesant Square were a first few harbingers of summer scattered here and there couples forcing the gladsome season of the dim park bench; solitary brooders who can sit so long, so droop-shouldered, and so deeply in silence. On one of these benches, beside a slim, scant-skirted, light-spatted silhouette, Stella Schump sat finally down. It was ten o'clock.
But to Stella Schump, neither elected nor electing to walk in greater glory, there was that about the Cobb front room thus lighted, thus animated, that gave her a sense of function a crowding around the heart. The neck of hallway might have been a strip of purple, awninged. There were greetings that rose in crescendo and falsetto. "Cora Kinealy! Hello, Cora! How's every little thing?"
But what's a girl goin' to do if she don't take; if she ain't got an Archie? Mrs. "There you go again! Honest, you two make me mad. I can't go out and lasso 'em, can I?" "She doesn't give 'em a chance, Cora; mark my word! The trouble is, she's too good for most she sees. They ain't up to her." "I can't understand it, Mrs. Schump. I always say there ain't a finer girl on the floor than Stella.
That time your brother Ed called for me for that party at your house honest, I couldn't open my mouth to him." "Can't understand it! 'Honest, I says to Ed that time after the party, I says to him, 'Ed, why don't you go over and call on Stella Schump and take her to a movie or something? She's my idea of a girl, Stella is. Think I could budge him? 'Naw, was all I could get out of him.
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