Two or three minutes later I sat at a machine, eating my milkless
lunch. I was trying to forget the incident, trying to think of
something else, but in vain. Manheimer's derision, especially the
word "lobster," was ringing in my ear.
He passed out of the shop, but ten or fifteen minutes later he came
back, and as I saw him walk down the aisle I became breathless
with hate. The word "lobster" was buzzing in my brain amid
vague, helpless visions of revenge
Presently my eye fell upon Ansel Chaikin, the designer, and a
strange thought flashed upon me.
He was a Russian, like myself. He was an ignorant tailor, as
illiterate as Meyer Nodelman, but a born artist in his line. It was
largely to his skill that the firm, which was doing exceedingly
well, owed the beginning of its success. It was the common talk
among the "hands" of the factory that his Americanized copies of
French models had found special favor with the buyer of a certain
large department store and that this alone gave the house a
considerable volume of business.
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