They were
nearing the great marble facade of the Seventh Avenue Terminal.
"Herman, I--I hate to see everything bust up like this--you--you such a
prince and all--but like Syl says, I--I guess all fools ain't dead yet!"
"You've had time to work this thing out for yourself now, Sadie, but
like I was saying before, anybody can play stubborn, but--but it's a
wise person who ain't ashamed to change his mind. Eh, Sadie? Eh?"
They were sliding down a runway and drew up now alongside a curb. A
redcap, wild for fee, swung open the cab door, immediately confiscating
all luggage.
"No, no, not that! You carry that box, Herm. It's the padded underjacket
for grandma. Tell her I--I sent it to her, Herm--with--with love."
"Yes, Sadie."
She was frankly crying now, edging her way through the crowd, running in
little quick steps to match her pace to his.
At the trainside, during the business of ticket inspection, she stood
by, her palm pat against her mouth and tears galumphing down. With a
face that stood out whitely in the gaseous fog, Mr. Loeb fumbled for
the red slip of his berth reservation.
"Well, Sadie girl, three minutes more and--"
"Oh--oh, Herm!"
"If you feel as bad as that, it's not too late, Sadie.
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