Because his wife was not feeling Well, Bill Safferstein had come home for lunch instead of eating in town. In return. Mona Safferstein decided she would keep him company and came down to the dining room in a housecoat over her nightgown.
"I don't want anything, Hilda," she said as the maid set a plate of soup before her husband. "Maybe a cup of tea."
"Aw cummon," her husband urged. "Have some soup. It'll do you good."
"No, Bill, it's hard for me to swallow, and I think I’ve got some temperature."
He reached over and placed his hand on her forehead. "You are a little warm, the hot soup will ease your throat. Bring her some soup. Hilda."
Bill Safferstein had a pleasing, coaxing manner that suggested that he knew exactly what was good for you and that he would like nothing better than to get it for you, he was tall and handsome with wavy black hair cut fashionably long at the nape of the neck. When he smiled, and he smiled easily, he showed even white teeth. His pleasant manner and tall good looks as well as considerable luck had made him an extremely successful real estate operator.
But his wife, for the moment at least, was impervious to his charm. Normally cool and svelte and sophisticated, with the long narrow head of a professional model, now her face was drawn and showed lines of pain, she shook her head crossly. "No, really. I'll just have some tea and go right back to bed."
"Maybe we ought to call the doctor," he suggested, concerned.
"Oh, I don't think so. Besides, where are you going to get a doctor on a Wednesday afternoon?"
"I'll call Al Muntz at home, maybe I can catch him before he goes to play golf or whatever the hell it is that doctors do on their afternoons off." Abruptly he left the table and strode to the phone in the hallway. It occurred to him that his wife must be feeling really ill not to put up a fuss at his calling the doctor.
He was back shortly. "Al has gone to some conference in Boston and will be away all afternoon, but his wife promised to tell him, she's sure he'll be able to look in on you sometime this evening."
"I don't think I really need a doctor," Mona said, but without conviction.
"Maybe you don't, sweetheart, but I'll feel better if Al Muntz checks you out." He went to the hall closet for his coat.
"Do you have to go now?" she asked plaintively.
"I got an appointment at the bank. Look, I'll try to get home early."
"Yes, but then you'll be going to Chefs for the evening," she complained.
"No, I'll stay in tonight."
Instantly, she was remorseful. "Oh, you don't have to because of me."
"But I want to."
"But you enjoy the Wednesday evenings at Chefs,” she insisted, "and you say they help you. I want you to go."
"No. Chet will tell them about my offer for the Goralsky Block tonight, and it would be better if I weren't there. Besides, I've got a hunch that Aptaker will call tonight and I'd like to be around so that I can run right over and get his signature on an agreement."
"You and your hunches! How about his son?"
Safferstein laughed joyously. "His son is like my brother-in-law."
She managed a smile. "But he has got a son."
"Sure, but he's in Pittsburgh or Philadelphia or someplace. If he were interested in the store, he would have come back long before this."
"But if he does come back?" she persisted.
"He won't. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever tried. It's got to work."
"It isn't too big for you, is it, Bill?" she asked anxiously.
"You're not overextended, are you?"
"Don't worry about that,” he said, a little too quickly. "I’ve got a hunch, I tell you."