why, Macy’s—don’t it fit nice? Oh, no, it isn’t too cool—these light-weight fabrics is all the go this season . . . Come again, please—that’s the third time you’ve tried to—what?—forget it—that lead quarter is an old friend of mine . . . Sixty-five?—must have had your salary raised, Mr. Wilson . . . I seen you on Sixth Avenue Tuesday afternoon, Mr. De Forest—swell?—oh, my!—who is she? . . . What’s the matter with it?—why, it ain’t money—what?—Columbian half?—well, this ain’t South America . . . Yes, I like the mixed best—Friday?—awfully sorry, but I take my jiu-jitsu lesson on Friday—Thursday, then . . . Thanks—that’s sixteen times I’ve been told that this morning—I guess I must be beautiful . . . Cut that out, please—who do you think I am? . . . Why, Mr. Westbrook—do you really think so?—the idea!—one—eighty and twenty’s a dollar—thank you ever so much; but I don’t ever go automobile riding with gentlemen—your aunt?—well, that’s different—perhaps . . . Please don’t get fresh—your check was fifteen cents, I believe—kindly step aside and let . . . Hello, Ben—coming around Thursday evening?—there’s a gentleman going to send around a box of chocolates, and . . . forty and sixty is a dollar, and one is two . . .”
About the middle of one afternoon the dizzy goddess Vertigo—whose other name is Fortune—suddenly smote an old, wealthy and eccentric banker while he was walking past Hinkle’s, on his way to a street car. A
