Outside the Cabinet-Maker’s.
The Century Magazine (December, 1928)
The automobile stopped at the corner of Sixteenth and some dingy-looking street. The lady got out. The man and the little girl stayed in the car.
“I’m going to tell him it can’t cost more than twenty dollars,” said the lady.
“All right. Have you the plans?”
“Oh, yes”—she reached for her bag in the back seat—“at least I have now.”
“Dites qu’il ne faut pas avoir les forts placards,” said the man. “Ni le bon bois.”
“All right.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk French,” said the little girl.
“Et il faut avoir un bon ‘height.’ L’un des Murphys était comme ça.”
He held his hand five feet from the ground. The lady went through a door lettered “Cabinet-Maker” and disappeared up a small stairs.
The man and the little girl looked
