The Wolf, The Muskrat,
and The Crow
Reuel Denney
WEN THEY HAD THUMBED
over all the sample holts of
cloth, Mr. Ginsberg looked out the window toward the rooftops of
the other lofts and lighted his cigar. He could see the shine of the
towers as far as the fifties and farther in the haze a shadowy
Queensborough Bridge.
"What do you think of them now Sam?" he asked.
Sam Feinman shook his head from side to side.
"I guess you got me this time Adolph. Where's your order–
book?"
"That's the way I like to hear you talk, Sam. You'll never be
sorry you got into this here line."
When Feinman had finished giving his order, Adolph Gins–
berg lighted his cigar for him.
"How are the kids, Sam?"
"Fine. Donald is getting the best marks in his class all the
way through. And Rose is getting so good on that violin-you
ehould hear her."
"And Etta?"
"Oh, you know. All right. Etta's always all right. She only
just worries about the kids. How is Seymour getting along? He
must be big now, huh?"
"You mean the Wildcat?" asked Adolph Ginsberg.
"Huh?" said Feinman. "The Wildcat?"
"That's right," said Ginsberg. He leaned across the desk and
shook his finger at the manufacturer.
"Say, listen Sam. The kids these days, they're smart all right.
Imagination!" he cried, tapping his forehead. "You wouldn't know
what they think of. Now this wildcat business for instance. Last
month Seymour and some of his friends from School67 come over
and I hear them talking. They call Seymour 'Wildcat,' so he calls
the
other boys by 'Bear' or other wild animals like that. Then they
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