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Updated: September 18, 2025
Schwirtz was a widower. §
They had less than two hundred dollars ahead. But Mr. Schwirtz borrowed a hundred from his friend, Burke McCullough, and did not visibly have to suffer from want of highballs, cigars, and Turkish baths. From the window of their room Una used to see him cross the street to the café entrance of the huge Saffron Hotel and once she saw him emerge from it with a fluffy blonde.
Especially you being here," he said to her, aside. They sang ballads about the fire at dusk, and trailed home along dark paths that smelled of pungent leaf-mold. Mr. Schwirtz lumbered beside her, heaped with blankets and pails and baskets till he resembled a camel in a caravan, and encouraged her to tell how stupid and unenterprising Mr. Troy Wilkins was.
No, nor one of these overdressed New-York chickens, neither, but cute and bright " "Oh, you're just flattering me, Mr. Schwirtz. Mr. Hunt told me I should watch out for you." "No, no; you got me wrong there. 'I dwell on what-is-it mountain, and my name is Truthful James, like the poet says! Believe me, I may be a rough-neck drummer, but I notice these things." "Oh!... Oh, do you like poetry?"
"You women cer'nly are a sketch!" he caroled. "Going back to mamma, are you? Sure! That's what the first Mrs. Schwirtz was always doing. Let's see. Once she got as far as the depot before she came back and admitted that she was a chump. I doubt if you get that far. You'll stop on the step. You're too tightwad to hire a taxi, even to try to scare me and make it unpleasant for me."
Schwirtz averred; and more and more, as the satisfaction of having for his new married mistress a "refined lady" grew dull, he adjured the refined lady to imitate Mrs. Sanderson. Fortunately, Mr. Schwirtz was out of town two-thirds of the time.
Starr and Miss Vincent had been in the far-forgotten time. Una blushed a little when she discovered that every one thought they were engaged, but she laughed at the rumor, and she laughed again, a nervous young laugh, as she repeated it to Mr. Schwirtz. "Isn't it a shame the way people gossip! Silly billies," she said. "We never talked that way about Mr.
She was dazzled and excited when Mr. Schwirtz took her to the opening of the Champs du Pom-Pom, the latest potpourri of amusements on Broadway. All under one roof were a super-vaudeville show, a smart musical comedy, and the fireworks of one-act plays; a Chinese restaurant, and a Louis Quinze restaurant and a Syrian desert-caravan restaurant; a ballroom and an ice-skating rink; a summer garden that, in midwinter, luxuriated in real trees and real grass, and a real brook crossed by Japanese bridges. Mr. Schwirtz was tireless and extravagant and hearty at the Champs du Pom-Pom. He made Una dance and skate; he had a box for the vaudeville; he gave her caviar canapé and lobster
But what most indicated that she was a real devotee was the fact that, after glancing at the front-page headlines, the society news, and the joke column in her morning paper, she would resolutely turn to "The Real Estate Field." On Sundays she often led Mr. Schwirtz for a walk among the new suburban developments.... For always, no matter what she did at the office, no matter how much Mr.
Schwirtz having occupied a desk next to his own for two years and that "the best paint on the market to-day is Lowry's Lasting Paint simply no getting around it."
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