Sadie always knew what they were wearing on
State Street, Chicago, half an hour after Mrs. Brandeis
returned from one of her buying trips. Shirtwaists had just
come in, and with them those neat leather belts with a
buckle, and about the throat they were wearing folds of
white satin ribbon, smooth and high and tight, the two ends
tied pertly at the back. Sadie would never be the
saleswoman that Pearl was, but her unfailing good nature and
her cheery self-confidence made her an asset in the store.
Besides, she was pretty. Mrs. Brandeis knew the value
of a pretty clerk.
At the approach of this stranger Sadie leaned coyly against
the stocking rack and patted her paper sleevelets that were
secured at wrist and elbow with elastic bands. Her method
was sure death to traveling men. She prepared now to try it
on the world-famous virtuoso. The ease with which she
succeeded surprised even Sadie, accustomed though she was to
conquest.
"Come, come, Schabelitz!" said Bauer again. "I must get
along."
"Then go, my friend.
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