"You bet," said the kind-faced young man.
West of Chicago, "You bet" means "Rather," and "Yes indeed," and "On the
whole I should be inclined to fancy that there may be some vestiges of
accuracy in your curious opinion," and "You're a liar but I can't afford
to say so."
The kind-faced young man brought from behind the counter a beautiful
brochure illustrated with photographs of Phoebus Apollo in what were
described as "American Beauty Garments--neat, natty, nobby, new." The
center pages faithfully catalogued the ties, shirts, cuff-links, spats,
boots, hats, to wear with evening clothes, morning clothes, riding
clothes, tennis costumes, polite mourning.
As he looked it over Milt felt that his wardrobe already contained all
these gentlemanly possessions.
With the aid of the clerk and the chart he purchased a tradition-haunted
garment with a plate-armor bosom and an opening as crooked as the
Missouri River; a white tie which in his strong red hands looked as
silly as a dead fish; waistcoat, pearl links, and studs. For the first
time, except for seizures of madness during two or three visits to
Minneapolis motor accessory stores, he caught the shopping-fever. The
long shining counter, the trim red-stained shelves, the glittering
cases, the racks of flaunting ties, were beautiful to him and
beckoning. He revolved a pleasantly clicking rack of ties, then turned
and fought his way out.
He bought pumps--which cost exactly twice as much as the largest sum
which he had allowed himself. He bought a newspaper, and in the
want-columns found the advertisement: Silberfarb the Society Tailor
DRESS SUITS TO RENT
Snappiest in the City Despite the superlative snappiness of Mr. Silberfarb's dress-suits his
establishment was a loft over a delicatessen, approached by a splintery
stairway along which hung shabby signs announcing the upstairs offices
of "J. L. & T. J. O'Regan, Private Detectives," "The Zenith Spiritualist
Church, Messages by Rev. Lulu Paughouse," "The International Order of
Live Ones, Seattle Wigwam," and "Mme. Lavourie, Sulphur Baths." The dead
air of the hallway suggested petty crookedness. Milt felt that he ought
to fight somebody but, there being no one to fight, he banged along the
flapping boards of the second-floor hallway to the ground-glass door of
Silberfarb the Society Tailor, who was also, as an afterthought on a
straggly placard, "Pressng & Cleang While U Wait."
He belligerently shouldered into a low room. The light from the one
window was almost obscured by racks of musty-smelling black clothes
which stretched away from him in two dismal aisles that resembled a
morgue of unhappy dead men indecently hung up on hooks. On a long,
clumsily carpentered table, a small Jew, collarless, sweaty, unshaven,
was darning trousers under an evil mantle gaslight. The Jew wrung out
his hands and tried to look benevolent.
"Want to rent a dress-suit," said Milt.
"I got just the t'ing for you!"