just too sweet for words? And the very kind of coat I’ve
been thinking of since I don’t know when. Oh, you pity
sing!” she exclaimed, affectedly, thinking all at once as
much of her own pose before the window and its effect on
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the passer-by as of the coat before her. “Oh, if I could only
have ‘oo.”
She clapped her hands admiringly, while Isadore
Rubenstein, the elderly son of the proprietor, who was
standing somewhat out of the range of her gaze at the
moment, noted the gesture and her enthusiasm and
decided forthwith that the coat must be worth at least
twenty-five or fifty dollars more to her, anyhow, in case she
inquired for it. The firm had been offering it at one hundred.
“Oh, ha!” he grunted. But being of a sensual and somewhat
romantic turn, he also speculated to himself rather definitely
as to the probable trading value, affectionally speaking, of
such a coat. What, say, would the poverty and vanity of
such a pretty girl as this cause her to yield for such a coat?
In the meantime, however, Hortense, having gloated as
long as her noontime hour would permit, had gone away,
still dreaming and satiating her flaming vanity by thinking of
how devastating she would look in such a coat. But she had
not stopped to ask the price. Hence, the next day, feeling
that she must look at it once more, she returned, only this
time alone, and yet with no idea of being able to purchase it
herself. On the contrary, she was only vaguely revolving the
problem of how, assuming that the coat was sufficiently low
in price, she could get it. At the moment she could think of
no one. But seeing the coat once more, and also seeing Mr.
Rubenstein, Jr., inside eyeing her in a most propitiatory and
genial manner, she finally ventured in.
“You like the coat, eh?” was Rubenstein’s ingratiating
comment as she opened the door. “Well, that shows you
have good taste, I’ll say. That’s one of the nobbiest little
coats we’ve ever had to show in this store yet. A real
beauty, that. And how it would look on such a beautiful girl
as you!” He took it out of the window and held it up. “I seen
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you when you was looking at it yesterday.” A gleam of
greedy admiration was in his eye.
And noting this, and feeling that a remote and yet not
wholly unfriendly air would win her more consideration and
courtesy than a more intimate one, Hortense merely said,
“Yes?”
“Yes, indeed. And I said right away, there’s a girl that knows
a really swell coat when she sees it.”
The flattering unction soothed, in spite of herself.
“Look at that! Look at that!” went on Mr. Rubinstein, turning
the coat about and holding it before her. “Where in Kansas
City will you find anything to equal that to-day? Look at this
silk lining here—genuine Mallinson silk—and these slant
pockets. And the buttons. You think those things don’t
make a different-looking coat? There ain’t another one like
it in Kansas City to-day—not one. And there won’t be. We
designed it ourselves and we never repeat our models. We
protect our customers. But come back here.” (He led the
way to a triple mirror at the back.) “It takes the right person
to wear a coat like this—to get the best effect out of it. Let
me try it on you.”
And by the artificial light Hortense was now privileged to
see how really fetching she did look in it. She cocked her
head and twisted and turned and buried one small ear in
the fur, while Mr. Rubenstein stood by, eyeing her with not
a little admiration and almost rubbing his hands.
“There now,” he continued. “Look at that. What do you say
to that, eh? Didn’t I tell you it was the very thing for you? A
find for you. A pick-up. You’ll never get another coat like
that in this city. If you do, I’ll make you a present of this
one.” He came very near, extending his plump hands,
palms up.
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“Well, I must say it does look smart on me,” commented
Hortense, her vainglorious soul yearning for it. “I can wear
anything like this, though.” She twisted and turned the
more, forgetting him entirely and the effect her interest
would have on his cost price. Then she added: “How much
is it?”
“Well, it’s really a two-hundred-dollar coat,” began Mr.
Rubenstein artfully. Then noting a shadow of
relinquishment pass swiftly over Hortense’s face, he added
quickly: “That sounds like a lot of money, but of course we
don’t ask so much for it down here. One hundred and fifty is
our price. But if that coat was at Jarek’s, that’s what you’d
pay for it and more. We haven’t got the location here and
we don’t have to pay the high rents. But it’s worth every
cent of two hundred.”
“Why, I think that’s a terrible price to ask for it, just awful,”
exclaimed Hortense sadly, beginning to remove the coat.
She was feeling as though life were depriving her of nearly
all that was worth while. “Why, at Biggs and Beck’s they
have lots of three-quarter mink and beaver coats for that
much, and classy styles, too.”
“Maybe, maybe. But not that coat,” insisted Mr. Rubenstein
stubbornly. “Just look at it again. Look at the collar. You
mean to say you can find a coat like that up there? If you
can, I’ll buy the coat for you and sell it to you again for a
hundred dollars. Actually, this is a special coat. It’s copied
from one of the smartest coats that was in New York last
summer before the season opened. It has class. You won’t
find no coat like this coat.”
“Oh, well, just the same, a hundred and fifty dollars is more
than I can pay,” commented Hortense dolefully, at the same
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time slipping on her old broadcloth jacket with the fur collar
and cuffs, and edging toward the door.
“Wait! You like the coat?” wisely observed Mr. Rubenstein,
after deciding that even a hundred dollars was too much for
her purse, unless it could be supplemented by some man’s.
“It’s really a two-hundred-dollar coat. I’m telling you that
straight. Our regular price is one hundred and fifty. But if
you could bring me a hundred and twenty-five dollars, since
you want it so much, well, I’ll let you have it for that. And
that’s like finding it. A stunning-looking girl like you oughtn’t
to have no trouble in finding a dozen fellows who would be
glad to buy that coat and give it to you. I know I would, if I
thought you would be nice to me.”
He beamed ingratiatingly up at her, and Hortense, sensing
the nature of the overture and resenting it—from him—drew
back slightly. At the same time she was not wholly
displeased by the compliment involved. But she was not
coarse enough, as yet, to feel that just any one should be
allowed to give her anything. Indeed not. It must be some
one she liked, or at least some one that was enslaved by
her.
And yet, even as Mr. Rubenstein spoke, and for some time
afterwards, her mind began running upon possible
individuals—favorites—who, by the necromancy of her
charm for them, might be induced to procure this coat for
her. Charlie Wilkens for instance—he of the Orphia cigar
store—who was most certainly devoted to her after his
fashion, but a fashion, however, which did not suggest that
he might do much for her without getting a good deal in
return.
And then there was Robert Kain, another youth—very tall,
very cheerful and very ambitious in regard to her, who was
connected with one of the local electric company’s branch
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offices, but his position was not sufficiently lucrative—a
mere entry clerk. Also he was too saving—always talking
about his future.
And again, there was Bert Gettler, the youth who had
escorted her to the dance the night Clyde first met her, but
who was little more than a giddy-headed dancing soul, one
not to be relied upon in a crisis like this. He was only a shoe
salesman, probably twenty dollars a week, and most careful
with his pennies.
But there was Clyde Griffiths, the person who seemed to
have real money and to be willing to spend it on her freely.
So ran her thoughts swiftly at the time. But could she now,
she asked herself, offhand, inveigle him into making such
an expensive present as this? She had not favored him so
very much—had for the most part treated him indifferently.
Hence she was not sure, by any means. Nevertheless as
she stood there, debating the cost and the beauty of the