petals by after-allusions to Harlem flats. One broker, who had been squeezed by copper proposed to Miss Merriam more regularly than he ate.
During a brisk luncheon hour Miss Merriam’s conversation, while she took money for checks, would run something like this:
“Good morning, Mr. Haskins—sir?—it’s natural, thank you—don’t be quite so fresh . . . Hello, Johnny—ten, fifteen, twenty—chase along now or they’ll take the letters off your cap . . . Beg pardon—count it again, please—Oh, don’t mention it . . . Vaudeville?—thanks; not on your moving picture—I was to see Carter in Hedda Gabler on Wednesday night with Mr. Simmons . . . ’Scuse me, I thought that was a quarter . . . Twenty-five and seventy-five’s a dollar—got that ham-and-cabbage habit yet. I see, Billy . . . Who are you addressing?—say—you’ll get all that’s coming to you in a minute . . . Oh, fudge! Mr. Bassett—you’re always fooling—no—? Well, maybe I’ll marry you some day—three, four and sixty-five is five . . . Kindly keep them remarks to yourself, if you please . . . Ten cents?—’scuse me; the check calls for seventy—well, maybe it is a one instead of a seven . . . Oh, do you like it that way, Mr. Saunders?—some prefer a pomp; but they say this Cleo de Merody does suit refined features . . . and ten is fifty . . . Hike along there, buddy; don’t take this for a Coney Island ticket booth . . . Huh?—
