him one or two things in a hurry. . . . I'd like to know about what size. Will you show me your hand, please? [The Nervous Gentleman extends his hand. Oscar, looks at Juhasz again, greatly flustered, takes the Nervous Gentleman's hand, shakes it cordially.] How do you do? [He stares at Juhasz anxiously.]
Nervous Gentleman—What do you say?
Oscar—Oh, pardon me! . . . Will you close your hand, sir? [The Nervous Gentleman extends his fist. Oscar measures a sock over it.] These are just right. Thorough Young Lady—[To Philip.] Let me see? Will they wear?
Juhasz—[To the Dissatisfied Lady.] A man doesn't like to see the same tie he is wearing on somebody else. [He is still staring at Oscar.]
Oscar—[Rapidly.] Three pair. . . . Yes, sir. And a dozen of these . . . and now[Scans the shelves.] Long black Fil d'Ecosse with clocks. [Takes down a box and throws it on the counter.] These are really excellent. [Opens the box in feverish haste, shows the socks.] We are the only ones in the city who carry them. . . . You can do almost anything to this stocking without harming it . . . boil it, bake it, soak it in lye, in alcohol, in vitriol. . . . May I see your hand again?
Dissatisfied Lady—[Who has been rummaging
