“Oh, no, I won’t,” he had told her meekly.  “You’ve got the makings of more real mind than any girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” she had snapped at him, but she had liked him nevertheless.  So long as one had to live with a man, even as his sister-in-law, it was well to have him in his place.

So her annoyance had died down, and had only risen a little again when one day Joe came to her office.  There was some excuse, of course, but his real reason obviously was to have a look at her employer and at the same time show the man that she had a male protector.  Booh! . . .  But Joe had smiled at Greesheimer and had withdrawn quite reassured, leaving her and her job in peace.

As Ethel’s business life went on, her self-confidence grew apace.  And now that she had proved to herself that she had brains behind her face, she dropped her air of severity and even began to enjoy the glances which she knew were cast her way, on the streets and in the office.  Even on old Greesheimer, when he was in one of his genial moods, she would bestow a winning smile.  It was good to have both brains and face.  She looked at the city with challenging eyes, a self-supporting woman.

And this state of mind might have lasted some time, had it not happened that one sunny day toward the end of April Greesheimer opened a letter with eager trembling fingers, read it swiftly and glared with joy, his big glistening eyes nearly leaving their sockets.  Then he whirled around in his chair, and as his eye lit on Ethel, he laughed, and in a harsh queer voice he cried, “Vell?  Now you see?  I’m rich alreatty, I’m vell off!  I got the Zimmerman contract—­see!  I can do vot I like!  I got it!  I got it!” He capered in triumphant glee, laughing again and seizing her arms.  “Vell, vot you say!  Vy don’t you speak?  By Gott, I raise your salary!”

“Oh, Mr. Greesheimer!” she cried, half laughing.  “It’s simply too wonderful for words!”

“Ha—­ha!” He still had her by the arms.  “All you young goils could love me now—­eh?—­you could take an old fehlah!  Ha-ha-ha!” And the next instant, furious, she felt herself hugged violently, kissed!  His lips!  His fat soft body!  Ugh!  She dug her elbow into him with a stifled cry and wrenched away.  A moment she turned on him eyes ablaze.

“You dirty—­beastly—­” she gasped for breath, then turned, and seizing her hat and coat she rushed blindly from the room and through the outer office.  In the elevator crowded with men she felt a queer taste in her mouth.  “That’s blood,” she thought.  “Biting my lip, am I—­well, bite on.  I’m not going to cry—­I’m not, I’m not—­I’ll reach that street if it kills me!”

Meanwhile in his office Greesheimer was still staring, first at the door and then at the window, and upon his pudgy countenance was a glare of utter astonishment and honest indignation.

“Mein Gott!” he exploded.  “I give her a hug—­a hug like a daughter—­and off like a rocket—­off she goes!” And in Yiddish and in Hebrew and Russian and American, Greesheimer expressed himself as he strode swiftly up and down.