Miss Cohn adjusted a pair of tissue-paper sleevelets and smoothed her smooth tan hips as if she would erase them entirely; then she looked up at him delicately, and for the instant the pink aura of her hair and the rise and fall of her too high bosom gave her some of the fleshly beauty of a Flora. "Like you had time to think of me! I bet the Washeim girl was in every other day for a pair of--" "Now, Miss Ruby, you--" "'Sh! There's some one out front. It's that cashier from Truman's grocery. You finish unpacking that case, Mr. Ginsburg. I'll wait on her. I bet she wants tango slippers." Miss Cohn flitted to the front of the store as rapidly as the span of her narrow skirt would permit, and Mr. Ginsburg dived deep into the depths of his wooden case. But in his nostrils, in the creases of his coat, and in the recesses of his heart was the strong breath of the Mayflower; and in the phantasmagoria of bonfire-colored hair and cream-colored skin, and the fragrance of his own emotions, he bent so dreamily over the packing-case that the blood rushed as if by capillary attraction to his temples; and when he staggered to an upright posture large black blotches were doing an elf dance before his eyes. "Mr. Ginsburg! Oh, Mr. Ginsburg!" "Yes, Miss Ruby." From the highest rung of a ladder, parallel with the top row of a wall of shoe-boxes, Miss Cohn poised like a humming-bird. "Say, have we got any more of them 4567 French heel, chiffon rosette?" "Yes, Miss Ruby--right there under the 5678's." "Sure enough. Never mind coming out; I can find 'em--yes, here they are." From her height she smiled down at him, pushed her ladder leftward along its track, clapped a shoe-box under her arm, and hurried down, her shoe-buttoner jangling from a pink ribbon at her waist-line. Mr. Ginsburg delved deeper. "Mr. Ginsburg!" "Yes, Miss Ruby." "Just a moment, please--there's a lady out here wants low-cuts, and I'm busy with a customer. Front, please--just this way, madam. I'll have some one to wait on you in a moment." Mr. Ginsburg clapped his hands dry of dust, wriggled into his unlined alpaca coat, brushed his plush-like hair with his palms, and advanced to the front of the store. His voice was lubricated with the sweet-oil of willing servitude. "What can I do for you, madam? Low-cuts for yourself?" He straddled a stool and took the foot in the cup of his hand. Beside him on a similar stool that brought their heads parallel Miss Ruby smoothed her hand across her customer's instep. "Ain't that effect great, Mr. Ginsburg, with that swell little rosette? I was just telling this young lady if I had her instep I'd never wear anything but our dancing-shoes." "It certainly is swell," agreed Mr. Ginsburg, peering into the lining of the shoe he removed to read its size.