Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v109.djvu/783

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THE FIRST OF OCTOBER.
727

The Boss Painter, with a Jewish accent: "Good morning, madam. We have come for the spot on the ceiling. It's a nice day, ain't it, madam?"

Mrs. Tarrant, pointedly: "I don't know. I've not been out lately. Is this your idea of the time to begin a morning job? I hope you're prepared to finish up to-day. Mr. Tarrant says that if there is any further delay he will certainly stop everything right here and employ other men. You promised—"

The Boss Painter: "Yes, madam. And here we are. Whatever Mr. Untermeyer promises, that he will do. Oh yes, madam. All will be finished to-day—everything. The spot on the ceiling, the woodwork—"

Mrs. Tarrant, ironically: "And I suppose the library will be papered to-day? And these floors cleaned and waxed?"

The Boss Painter: "Oh, madam, we are not the paperers. I cannot tell. Mr. Untermeyer, he told me only of the spot on the—"

Mrs. Tarrant: "Yes, I know. Did he tell you to get here at eleven o'clock—or almost that?"

The Boss Painter: "No, indeed, madam. The men start out early, but of course it is a long way from the shop. Now we are all ready."

During this conversation the Assistant Painters have deposited their pails and brushes on the floor and seized the bundle of grayish cloth by opposite ends, which they pull back and forth in the futile manner of operatic sailors working at ropes. Mrs. Tarrant, staring at them, bursts out nervously: "What are those men trying to do?"

The Boss Painter, soothingly: "The cloth to protect the wall-paper, madam. For the spot on the ceiling. Then the kalsomine will not fall. Now we are all ready."

"One's Eyes? Whose Eyes?"

One of the Assistant Painters here mumbles something unintelligible to Mrs. Tarrant, who looks inquiringly at him. He repeats: "Und tags."

Mrs. Tarrant: "Tags? What does he mean?"

The Assistant Painters, dropping the cloth and folding their hands over their stomachs, repeat together, staring vaguely at nothing: "Tags, lady, tags."

The Boss Painter: "It is tacks that George wants. Tacks for these cloth. Have you not some tacks, madam?"

Mrs. Tarrant, decidedly: "No, I have not. At least, if there are any in the tool-box, I don't know where it is. Why didn't you bring some?"

The Boss Painter, cheerfully: "That's