"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!"




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