and he hurried forward to find out what it was. The air was so thick with myriads of madly flying bits of snow, which seemed whirled in all directions in the air, that he could not see anything definite even a few yards away. When he reached the van he found that he had also reached his confectioner. The sign over the window read “M. Munsberg, Confectionery. Cakes. Ice-Cream. Weddings, Balls and Receptions.”
“Made a start, anyhow,” said Tembarom.
He turned into the store, opening the door carefully, and thereby barely escaping being blown violently against a stout, excited, middle-aged little Jew who was bending over a box he was packing. This was evidently Mr. Munsberg, who was extremely busy, and even the modified shock upset his temper.
“Vhere you goin'?” he cried out. “Can't you look vhere you're goin'?”
Tembarom knew this was not a good beginning, but his natural mental habit of vividly seeing the other man's point of view helped him after its usual custom. His nice grin showed itself.
“I wasn't going; I was coming,” he said. “Beg pardon. The wind's blowing a hundred miles an hour.”
A good-looking young woman, who was probably Mrs. Munsberg, was packing a smaller box behind the counter. Tembarom lifted his hat, and she liked it.
“He didn't do it a bit fresh,” she said later. “Kind o' nice.” She spoke to him with professional politeness.
“Is there anything you want?” she asked.
Tembarom glanced at the boxes and packages standing about and at Munsberg, who had bent over his packing again. Here was an occasion for practical tact.
“I've blown in at the wrong time,” he said. “You're busy getting things out on time. I'll just wait.. Gee! I'm glad to be inside. I want to speak to Mr. Munsberg.”
Mr. Munsberg jerked himself upright irascibly, and broke forth in the accent of the New York German Jew.
“If you comin' in here to try to sell somedings, young man, joost you let that same vind vat blew you in blow you right out pretty quick. I'm not buyin' nodings. I'm busy.”
“I'm not selling a darned thing,” answered Tembarom, with undismayed cheer.
“You vant someding?” jerked out Munsberg.
“Yes, I want something,” Tembarom answered, “but it's nothing any one has to pay for. I'm only a newspaper man.” He felt a glow of pride as he said the words. He was a newspaper man even now. “Don't let me stop you a minute. I'm in luck to get inside anywhere and sit down. Let me wait.”
Mrs. Munsberg read the Sunday papers and revered them. She also knew the value of advertisement. She caught her husband's eye and hurriedly winked at him.
“It's awful outside. 'T won't do harm if he waits—if he ain't no agent,” she put in.
“See,” said Tembarom, handing over one of the cards which had been Little Ann's businesslike inspiration.
“T. Tembarom. New York Sunday Earth,” read Munsberg, rather grudgingly. He looked at T. Tembarom, and T. Tembarom looked back at him. The normal human friendliness in the sharp boyish face did it.
“Vell,” he said, making another jerk toward a chair, “if you ain't no agent, you can vait.”
“Thank you,” said Tembarom, and sat down. He had made another start, anyhow.
After this the packing went on fast and furious. A youth appeared from the back of the store, and ran here and there as he was ordered. Munsberg and his wife filled wooden and cardboard boxes with small cakes and larger ones, with sandwiches and salads, candies and crystallized fruits. Into the larger box was placed a huge cake with an icing temple on the top of it, with silver doves adorning it outside and in. There was no mistaking the poetic significance of that cake. Outside the blizzard whirled clouds of snow-particles through the air, and the van horse kept his head down and his forelegs braced. His driver had long since tried to cover him with a blanket which the wind continually tore loose from its fastenings, and flapped about the creature's sides. Inside the store grew hot. There was hurried moving about, banging of doors, excited voices, irascible orders given and countermanded. Tembarom found out in five minutes that the refreshments were for a wedding reception to be held at a place known as “The Hall,” and the goods must be sent out in time to be ready for the preparations for the wedding supper that night.
“If I knew how to handle it, I could get stuff for a column just sitting here,” he thought. He kept both eyes and ears open. He was sharp enough to realize that the mere sense of familiarity with detail which he was gaining was material in itself. Once or twice he got up and lent a hand with a box in his casual way, and once or twice he saw that he could lift some-thing down or up for Mrs. Munsberg, who was a little woman. The natural casualness of his way of jumping up to do the things prevented any suspicion of officiousness, and also prevented his waiting figure from beginning to wear the air of a superfluous object in the way. He waited a long time, and circumstances so favored him as to give him a chance or so. More than once exactly the right moment presented itself when he could interject an apposite remark. Twice he made Munsberg laugh, and twice Mrs. Munsberg voluntarily addressed him.
At last the boxes and parcels ware all carried out and stored in the van, after strugglings with the opening and shutting of doors, and battlings with outside weather.
When this was all over, Munsberg came back into the store, knocking his hands together and out of breath.
“Dot's all right,” he said. “It'll all be there plenty time. Vouldn't have fell down on that order for tventy-vive dollars. Dot temple on the cake was splendid. Joseph he done it fine.”
“He never done nothin' no finer,” Mrs. Munsberg said. “It looked as good as anything on Fift' Avenoo.”
Both were relieved and pleased with themselves, their store, and their cake-decorator. Munsberg spoke to Tembarom in the manner of a man who, having done a good thing, does not mind talking about it.
“Dot was a big order,” he remarked.
“I should smile,” answered Tembarom. “I'd like to know whose going to get outside all that good stuff. That wedding-cake took the tart away from anything I've ever seen. Which of the four hundred's going to eat it?”
“De man vot ordered dot cake,” Munsberg swaggered, “he's not got to vorry along on vun million nor two. He owns de biggest brewery in New York, I guess in America. He's Schwartz of Schwartz & Kapfer.”
“Well, he 's got it to burn!” said Tembarom.
“He's a mighty good man,” went on Munsberg. “He's mighty fond of his own people. He made his first money in Harlem, and he had a big fight to get it; but his own people vas good to him, an' he's never forgot it. He's built a fine house here, an' his girls is fine girls. De vun's goin' to be married to-night her name's Rachel, an' she's goin' to marry a nice feller, Louis Levy. Levy built the big entertainment-hall vhere the reception's goin' to be. It's decorated vith two thousand dollars' worth of bride roses an' lilies of de valley an' smilax. All de up-town places vas bought out, an' den Schwartz vent down Fift' Avenoo.”
The right moment had plainly arrived.
“Say, Mr. Munsberg,” Tembarom broke
