The hungry boy in him was uppermost. "That's so. I'm going to have
some wheat cakes, and steak, and eggs, and coffee, and fruit, and
toast, and rolls."
"Why slight the fish?" inquired his mother. Then, as he turned toward
the dining-room, "I've two letters to get out. Then I'm going down the
street to see a customer. I'll be up at the Sulzberg-Stein department
store at nine sharp. There's no use trying to see old Sulzberg before
ten, but I'll be there, anyway, and so will Ed Meyers, or I'm no skirt
salesman. I want you to meet me there. It will do you good to watch
how the overripe orders just drop, ker-plunk, into my lap."
Maybe you know Sulzberg & Stein's big store? No? That's because you've
always lived in the city. Old Sulzberg sends his buyers to the New
York market twice a year, and they need two floor managers on the main
floor now. The money those people spend for red and green decorations
at Christmas time, and apple-blossoms and pink crepe paper shades in
the spring, must be something awful.
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