When you entered the long, cool, narrow store on Elm Street, Mrs. Brandeis herself came forward to serve you, unless she already was busy with two customers. There were two clerks—three, if you count Aloysius, the boy—but to Mrs. Brandeis belonged the privilege of docketing you first. If you happened in during a moment of business lull6, you were likely to find her reading in the left-hand corner at the front of the store, near the shelf where were ranged the dolls' heads, the pens, the pencils, and school supplies.
You saw a sturdy, well-set-up, alert woman, of the kind that looks taller than she really is; a woman with a long, straight, clever nose that indexed her character, as did everything about her, from her crisp, vigorous, abundant hair to the way she came down hard on her heels in walking. She was what might be called a very definite person. But first you remarked her eyes. Will you concede that eyes can be piercing, yet velvety7? Their piercingness was a mental quality, I suppose, and the velvety softness a physical one. One could only think, somehow, of wild pansies—the brown kind. If Winnebago had taken the trouble to glance at the title of the book she laid face down on the pencil boxes as you entered, it would have learned that the book was one of Balzac's, or, perhaps, Zangwill's, or Zola's. She never could overcome that habit of snatching a chapter here and there during dull moments. She was too tired to read when night came.
There were many times when the little Wisconsin town lay broiling9 in the August sun, or locked in the January drifts, and the main business street was as silent as that of a deserted10 village. But more often she came forward to you from the rear of the store, with bits of excelsior clinging to her black sateen apron11. You knew that she had been helping12 Aloysius as he unpacked13 a consignment14 of chamber15 sets or a hogshead of china or glassware, chalking each piece with the price mark as it was dug from its nest of straw and paper.
“How do you do!” she would say. “What can I do for you?” And in that moment she had you listed, indexed, and filed, were you a farmer woman in a black shawl and rusty16 bonnet17 with a faded rose bobbing grotesquely19 atop it, or one of the patronizing East End set who came to Brandeis' Bazaar because Mrs. Brandeis' party favors, for one thing, were of a variety that could be got nowhere else this side of Chicago. If, after greeting you, Mrs. Brandeis called, “Sadie! Stockings!” (supposing stockings were your quest), you might know that Mrs. Brandeis had weighed you and found you wanting.
There had always been a store—at least, ever since Fanny could remember. She often thought how queer it would seem to have to buy pins, or needles, or dishes, or soap, or thread. The store held all these things, and many more. Just to glance at the bewildering display outside gave you promise of the variety within. Winnebago was rather ashamed of that display. It was before the day of repression20 in decoration, and the two benches in front of the windows overflowed21 with lamps, and water sets, and brooms, and boilers22 and tinware and hampers23. Once the Winnebago Courier had had a sarcastic24 editorial about what they called the Oriental bazaar (that was after the editor, Lem Davis, had bumped his shin against a toy cart that protruded25 unduly), but Mrs. Brandeis changed nothing. She knew that the farmer women who stood outside with their husbands on busy Saturdays would not have understood repression in display, but they did understand the tickets that marked the wares26 in plain figures—this berry set, $1.59; that lamp, $1.23. They talked it over, outside, and drifted away, and came back, and entered, and bought.
She knew when to be old-fashioned, did Mrs. Brandeis, and when to be modern. She had worn the first short walking skirt in Winnebago. It cleared the ground in a day before germs were discovered, when women's skirts trailed and flounced behind them in a cloud of dust. One of her scandalized neighbors (Mrs. Nathan Pereles, it was) had taken her aside to tell her that no decent woman would dress that way.
“Next year,” said Mrs. Brandeis, “when you are wearing one, I'll remind you of that.” And she did, too. She had worn shirtwaists with a broad “Gibson” shoulder tuck, when other Winnebago women were still encased in linings27 and bodices. Do not get the impression that she stood for emancipation28, or feminism, or any of those advanced things. They had scarcely been touched on in those days. She was just an extraordinarily29 alert woman, mentally and physically30, with a shrewd sense of values. Molly Brandeis never could set a table without forgetting the spoons, or the salt, or something, but she could add a double column of figures in her head as fast as her eye could travel.
There she goes, running off with the story, as we were afraid she would. Not only that, she is using up whole pages of description when she should be giving us dialogue. Prospective31 readers, running their eyes over a printed page, object to the solid block formation of the descriptive passage. And yet it is fascinating to weave words about her, as it is fascinating to turn a fine diamond this way and that in the sunlight, to catch its prismatic hues32. Besides, you want to know—do you not?—how this woman who reads Balzac should be waiting upon you in a little general store in Winnebago, Wisconsin?
In the first place, Ferdinand Brandeis had been a dreamer, and a potential poet, which is bad equipment for success in the business of general merchandise. Four times, since her marriage, Molly Brandeis had packed her household goods, bade her friends good-by, and with her two children, Fanny and Theodore, had followed her husband to pastures new. A heart-breaking business, that, but broadening. She knew nothing of the art of buying and selling at the time of her marriage, but as the years went by she learned unconsciously the things one should not do in business, from watching Ferdinand Brandeis do them all. She even suggested this change and that, but to no avail. Ferdinand Brandeis was a gentle and lovable man at home; a testy33, quick-tempered one in business.
That was because he had been miscast from the first, and yet had played one part too long, even though unsuccessfully, ever to learn another. He did not make friends with the genial34 traveling salesmen who breezed in, slapped him on the back, offered him a cigar, inquired after his health, opened their sample cases and flirted35 with the girl clerks, all in a breath. He was a man who talked little, listened little, learned little. He had never got the trick of turning his money over quickly—that trick so necessary to the success of the small-town business.
So it was that, in the year preceding Ferdinand Brandeis' death, there came often to the store a certain grim visitor. Herman Walthers, cashier of the First National Bank of Winnebago, was a kindly-enough, shrewd, small-town banker, but to Ferdinand Brandeis and his wife his visits, growing more and more frequent, typified all that was frightful36, presaged37 misery38 and despair. He would drop in on a bright summer morning, perhaps, with a cheerful greeting. He would stand for a moment at the front of the store, balancing airily from toe to heel, and glancing about from shelf to bin18 and back again in a large, speculative39 way. Then he would begin to walk slowly and ruminatively40 about, his shrewd little German eyes appraising41 the stock. He would hum a little absent-minded tune42 as he walked, up one aisle43 and down the next (there were only two), picking up a piece of china there, turning it over to look at its stamp, holding it up to the light, tapping it a bit with his knuckles44, and putting it down carefully before going musically on down the aisle to the water sets, the lamps, the stockings, the hardware, the toys. And so, his hands behind his back, still humming, out the swinging screen door and into the sunshine of Elm Street, leaving gloom and fear behind him.
One year after Molly Brandeis took hold, Herman Walthers' visits ceased, and in two years he used to rise to greet her from his little cubbyhole when she came into the bank.
Which brings us to the plush photograph album. The plush photograph album is a concrete example of what makes business failure and success. More than that, its brief history presents a complete characterization of Ferdinand and Molly Brandeis.
Ten years before, Ferdinand Brandeis had bought a large bill of Christmas fancy-goods—celluloid toilette sets, leather collar boxes, velvet8 glove cases. Among the lot was a photograph album in the shape of a huge acorn45 done in lightning-struck plush. It was a hideous46 thing, and expensive. It stood on a brass47 stand, and its leaves were edged in gilt48, and its color was a nauseous green and blue, and it was altogether the sort of thing to grace the chill and funereal49 best room in a Wisconsin farmhouse50. Ferdinand Brandeis marked it at six dollars and stood it up for the Christmas trade. That had been ten years before. It was too expensive; or too pretentious51, or perhaps even too horrible for the bucolic52 purse. At any rate, it had been taken out, brushed, dusted, and placed on its stand every holiday season for ten years. On the day after Christmas it was always there, its lightning-struck plush face staring wildly out upon the ravaged53 fancy-goods counter. It would be packed in its box again and consigned54 to its long summer's sleep. It had seen three towns, and many changes. The four dollars that Ferdinand Brandeis had invested in it still remained unturned.
One snowy day in November (Ferdinand Brandeis died a fortnight later) Mrs. Brandeis, entering the store, saw two women standing55 at the fancy-goods counter, laughing in a stifled56 sort of way. One of them was bowing elaborately to a person unseen. Mrs. Brandeis was puzzled. She watched them for a moment, interested. One of the women was known to her. She came up to them and put her question, bluntly, though her quick wits had already given her a suspicion of the truth.
“What are you bowing to?”
The one who had done the bowing blushed a little, but giggled57 too, as she said, “I'm greeting my old friend, the plush album. I've seen it here every Christmas for five years.”
Ferdinand Brandeis died suddenly a little more than a week later. It was a terrible period, and one that might have prostrated58 a less resolute59 and balanced woman. There were long-standing debts, not to speak of the entire stock of holiday goods to be paid for. The day after the funeral Winnebago got a shock. The Brandeis house was besieged60 by condoling61 callers. Every member of the little Jewish congregation of Winnebago came, of course, as they had come before the funeral. Those who had not brought cakes, and salads, and meats, and pies, brought them now, as was the invariable custom in time of mourning.
Others of the townspeople called, too; men and women who had known and respected Ferdinand Brandeis. And the shock they got was this: Mrs. Brandeis was out. Any one could have told you that she should have been sitting at home in a darkened room, wearing a black gown, clasping Fanny and Theodore to her, and holding a black-bordered handkerchief at intervals62 to her reddened eyes. And that is what she really wanted to do, for she had loved her husband, and she respected the conventions. What she did was to put on a white shirtwaist and a black skirt at seven o'clock the morning after the funeral.
The store had been closed the day before. She entered it at seven forty-five, as Aloysius was sweeping63 out with wet sawdust and a languid broom. The extra force of holiday clerks straggled in, uncertainly, at eight or after, expecting an hour or two of undisciplined gossip. At eight-ten Molly Brandeis walked briskly up to the plush photograph album, whisked off its six-dollar price mark, and stuck in its place a neatly64 printed card bearing these figures: “To-day—79 cents!” The plush album went home in a farmer's wagon65 that afternoon.
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1
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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7
velvety
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| adj. 像天鹅绒的, 轻软光滑的, 柔软的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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broiling
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| adj.酷热的，炽热的，似烧的v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的现在分词 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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10
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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13
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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14
consignment
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| n.寄售；发货；委托；交运货物 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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boilers
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| 锅炉，烧水器，水壶( boiler的名词复数 ) | |
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hampers
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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linings
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| n.衬里( lining的名词复数 )；里子；衬料；组织 | |
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emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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testy
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| adj.易怒的；暴躁的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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presaged
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| v.预示，预兆( presage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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39
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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ruminatively
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| adv.沉思默想地，反复思考地 | |
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41
appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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42
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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43
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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44
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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45
acorn
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| n.橡实，橡子 | |
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46
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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47
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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48
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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49
funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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50
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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51
pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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52
bucolic
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| adj.乡村的；牧羊的 | |
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53
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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54
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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55
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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56
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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57
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
prostrated
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的过去式和过去分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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60
besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
condoling
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| v.表示同情，吊唁( condole的现在分词 ) | |
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62
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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63
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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64
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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