Sadie Mosher, sister to the great Felix Mosher who played heavy
down at Shefsky's theater for twenty years. _Goy!_ Say, Sammie, it's too
bad a nut from the bug-house bought the Brooklyn Bridge to-day or I'd
try to sell it to you."
"Little Jingle Bells, if I put you in a taxi now and shoot up those
credentials, will you marry me to-morrow at noon?"
"I--oh, I dunno."
"Marry, he says to you, girl. Think of the minus number of times girls
like us get that little word whispered to 'em. Think of the short
season. Moncrieff's grouch. The back muscles of your legs! Marry, he
says to you, girl! Marry!"
"To-morrow at noon, little one?"
"I--I sleep till three."
"And it couldn't 'a' been me!"
"Little Jingle Bells?"
"Why, y-yes, I--I'm on."
At three o'clock on Wednesday afternoon, in a magistrate's office,
beneath a framed engraving of a judicial court in wigged session, Herman
Schulien Loeb and Sadie Helen Mosher became as one. A bar of scant
metropolitan sunshine, miraculously let in by a cleft between two
skyscrapers, lay at the feet of the bride.
Slightly arear of them: Mr. Louis Slupsky; Mr. Samuel Kahn, with a
tinge the color of apoplexy in his face; and Miss Sylvette de Long, her
face thrust forward as if she heard melody.
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