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Thérèse drew nearer, if only to please him. She agreed with every word he said. She was afraid she might lose him. She gazed at the suite which he was recommending to her. But she could not have said what it was like. An anguished search took place in her for some excuse to prolong the pleasure of his butter voice. If she said 'Yes', and paid the money down, she would have to leave and that would be good-bye to the superior young man. She might as well have something for all that beautiful money. These people were making a profit out of her. There was no shame in making him talk a bit longer. Other people walk out of the shop without buying anything. They don't worry themselves. She was a respectable woman and never did such things. She could take her time.

She found no way out; to say something, she said: 'Excuse me please, that's easy said!'

'Permit me, dear lady, or if I may say so, my very charming lady, I would never deceive you. When I specially recommend something to you, then I specially recommend it. You can have implicit faith in me, dear lady, everyone trusts me. I owe you no proof of that, dear lady. Will you step this way a minute, sirs'

The chief, Mr. Gross, a diminutive mannikin with squashed features and hunted little eyes, appeared on the threshold of his separate office, and, small though he was, immediately folded himself into two even smaller halves.

'What can I do;' he asked and sidled, embarrassed, like a frightened small boy, into the orbit of Therese's wide-spreading skirt.

'Tell the lady yourself, sir, has any customer ever failed to trust my word?'

The chief said nothing. He was afraid of telling a lie before mother; she might box his ears. The conflict between his business sense and his reverence for mother betrayed itself in his expression. Thérèse saw the conflict and misinterpreted it. She compared the assistant to the chief. He wanted to chip in but didn't dare. To enhance the victory of the superior young man, she came to his help with a flourish of trumpets.

'I ask you, what do we want him for? Anyone would believe you from your voice alone. I believe every word. What's the good of lying? Who wants him? I wouldn't believe a word he said.'

The little man retreated with all speed into his private office. It was always the same. He had not so much as opened his mouth, before mother told him he was lying. With every woman, it was the same story. When he was a child, it was his mother, later it was his wife, an ex-employee. His marriage even had begun in the same way, with his having to soothe his typist whenever she complained of anything by calling her 'mother'. Since his marriage he was allowed no more girl clerks. But mothers kept coming into the shop all the time. That was certainly one of them. So he had had his private office built at the back. He was only to be called out of it when it was essential. He would take it out of Brute for doing this. The man knew perfectly well he couldn't play his part as chief in front of mother. That Brute wanted to be taken into partnership, so to make him look small he was showing him up in front of the customers. But Mr. Gross himself was head ofthe firm of Gross & Mother. His real mother was still alive and a partner in the business. Twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays, she came to go through the books and shout at the assistants. She checked over the figures exactly; that was why it was so very difficult to cheat her of anything. He managed it all the same. If it were not for this cheating he couldn t have gone on living. For this reason he regarded himself, justly, as the real head of the firm; all the more so as her shouting stood him in good stead with his employees. On the days before her visits he could order them about as he liked. They tumbled over each other to obey him, because he might very possibly tell her on the following day if anyone had been impertinent. Tuesdays and Fridays she stayed all day in the shop, anyway. It was mousy quiet then, not a soul dared whisper; not even he; but it was beautiful. Wednesdays and Saturdays were the only days when they were impertinent. To-day was a Wednesday.

Mr. Gross sat on his high stool and listened to what was going on outside. That Brute talked like a waterfall. The fellow was worth his weight in gold, but a partnership he would not get. What's that, the lady's asking him to go out to lunch with her?

'The chief wouldn't hear of it, dear lady; it would be my dearest wish, dear lady.'

'Excuse me please, you can make an exception. I shall pay for you.'

'You have a heart of gold, dear lady, I am deeply touched, but it is out of the question, quite out of the question. The chief won't have liberties.'

'Well, he can't be such a brute.'

'If you knew my name, dear lady, you would laugh. Brute is my name.'

'I don't see anything funny in that, Brute is as good a name as another. You aren't a brute.'

'Warmest thanks for the compliment; I kiss your hand, dear lady. If I go much further I shall kiss that sweet hand in earnest.'

'Excuse me please, if anyone were to hear us, what would they think?'

'It wouldn't worry me, dear lady. I've nothing to be ashamed of. As I said, when one has such magnificent hips, excuse me — hands was what I meant, of course. Which have you decided on, dear lady? You have settled on this one?'

'But first I'm taking you out to lunch.'

'You would make me the happiest man in the world, dear lady, a poor salesman, I must ask you to excuse me. The chief

'He has nothing to say.'

'You are mistaken, dear lady. His mother is as good as ten chiefs. He's no worm, either.'

'What sort of a man is that? That's not a man. My husband's a man compared to him. Well then, are you coming? You go on as if you didn't like the look of me.'

'What are you saying, dear lady? Show me the man who doesn't like the look of you! You can lay me any odds you like, you'll never find him. He doesn't exist, dear lady. I curse my cruel fate dear lady. The chief would never allow us this glory. What, he'll say, there's a customer going out with a mere assistant, suppose the customer should suddenly run into her husband. Madam's husband, if I may say so, would be beside himself with rage. That would make a sensational scandal. The assistant'll come back to the shop, but the customer, never. Who will foot the bill? I shall! An expensive outing, that's what the chief will say. It's a point cf view, dear lady. Do you know the little song, dear lady, about the poor gigolo, the pretty gigolo? "No matter though your heart should break..." well, let's leave it there ! You'll be satisfied with the beds, dear lady.'

'But I ask you, you don't really want to. I'll pay for you.'

'Ah, if you were free this evening, dear lady, but what a question. Madam's husband is inexorable on that point. I must say, I understand him. If I were lucky enough to be married to a beautiful lady — well my dear young lady, I can't begin to tell you what care I should take of her. "No matter though her heart should break, I would not let her leave my side." The second line is my own. I've an idea, dear lady. I'll write a dance tune about you, dear lady, about you lying in the new bed, wearing nothing but pjyamas so to speak, with your magnificent ... excuse me, we'd better leave it there. May I trouble you, dear lady. to step over to the cash desk?'

'But I wouldn't dream of it! First we'll go and eat.'

Mr. Gross had listened with mounting indignation. Why had that fellow Brute always to be running him down? Instead of being pleased to be taken out to lunch by mother. All these assistants got above themselves. Every single evening a different girl met him outside the shop, radiant young things, young enough to be his daughters. That mother might go away without buying the suite. Mothers didn't like having their invitations rejected. That fellow Brute took too much on himself. That fellow Brute was getting too big for his boots. Today was Wednesday. Why shouldn t Gross be master in his own shop on Wednesdays?

Listening with all ears, he felt his hackles rise. He felt that mother out there, who was so stubbornly arguing with his assistant, was seconding him for the fight. She spoke of him, Gross, in the same tone of voice as all mothers always did. How was he to speak to Brute? If he said too much, he would be certain to give him a back answer, being Wednesday, and he would lose a good customer. If he said too little, perhaps he wouldn't understand him. It might be best to issue a brief command. Should he look mother in the face as he gave it? No. Better place himself in front of her with his back to her; confronted by them both Brute would be more likely to be respectful.

He waited a short time until it was clear that a peaceful agreement was out of the question. Softly he jumped offhis office stool and in two tiny strides was at the glass door. With a sudden movement, he flung it open, shot out his head — the largest thing about him — and cried in a shrill falsetto:

'Go with the lady, Brute!'

'The chief, dished up as his excuse for the hundredth time, stuck in his throat.

Thérèse twisted her head round, and snorted triumphantly: 'Excuse me, what did I tell you?' Before they went out to lunch she would have liked to reward the chief with a grateful glance, but he had long since vanished into his office.

Brute's eyes had an evil gleam. Scornfully he fixed them on the starched skirt. He took good care not to look into hers. His melted butter voice would have tasted rancid. He knew it and was silent. Only when they reached the door and he stood back for her, did his arm and lips move, out of habit, and he said: 'By your leave, dear lady!'

CHAPTER VII

MOBILIZATION

From beggars and hawkers No. 24 Ehrlich Strasse had for many years been free. The caretaker, in his little box adjoining the entrance hall lay in wait day after day, ready to spring upon any passing derelict. People who counted on alms from this house held in mortal terror the oval peep-hole at the usual height, under which was written Porter. Passing it, they stooped low, as if bowing down in gratitude, for some particularly charitable gift. Their caution was vain. The caretaker troubled himself not at all about the ordinary peep-hole. He had seen them long before they crouched past it. He had his own tried and tested method. A retired policeman, he was sly and indispensable. He did indeed see them through a peep-hole but not the one against which they were on their guard.

Two feet from the floor he had bored in the wall of his little box a second peep-hole. Here, where no one suspected him, he kept watch, kneeling. The world for him consisted of trousers and skirts. He was well acquainted with all those worn in the house itself; aliens he graded according to their cut, value or distinction. He had grown as expert in this as he had been in former times over arrests. He seldom erred. When a suspect came in view, he reached out, still kneeling, with his short, stout arm for the door latch; another idea of his — it was fixed on upside down. The fury with which he leapt to his feet opened it. Then he rushed bellowing at the suspect and beat him within an inch of his life. On the first of every month, when his pension came, he allowed everyone free passage. Interested persons were well aware of this, and descended in swarms on the inmates of No. 24 Ehrlich Strasse, starved of beggars for a full month. Stragglers on the second and third days occasionally slipped through, or were at least not so painfully dealt with. From the fourth onwards only the very green tried their luck.

Kien had made friends with the caretaker after a slight incident. He had been coming back one evening from an unusual walk and it was already dark in the entrance hall. Suddenly someone bellowed at him:

'You sh—house you, off to the police with you!' The caretaker hurled himself out of his room and sprang at Kien s throat. It was very high up and difficult to reach. The man became aware of his clumsy 
misapprehension. He was ashamed; his trouser-prestige was at stake. With fawning friendliness he drew Kien into his room, revealed his secret patent to him and commanded his four canaries to sing. They were, however, unwilling. Kien began to understand to whom he owed his peace. (Some years ago now, all beggars had stopped ringing at his door bell.) The fellow, stocky and strong as a bear, stood there in the narrow space, close against him. He promised the man, who was after all efficient in his own Tine, a monthly gratuity. The'sum which he named was larger than the tips of all the other tenants put together. In the first flood of delight the caretaker would gladly have battered the walls of his little room to pulp with his red-haired fists. In this way he would have shown his patron how much he deserved his thanks, but he managed to hold his muscles in check, only bellowed: 'You can count on me, Professor!' and hurled open the door into the hall.