The tailor frowned. "Well, that's pretty short notice." He gave an imitation of Rodin's "Le Penseur." In the end, out of a deep study, he announced, "I can do it. I will have it for you six o'clock of the twenty-fourth. All right?"
Harold decided that it would have to be.
"Fine," said Morris Hertz. "Stand on the stool and I will measure you right away."
Harold obeyed. He mounted the worn plush stool. Hertz hovered around him with tape measure, paper and the stub of a pencil. He wielded the measure in the flickering gas light and, licking the pencil, made cryptic figures down on the dirty scrap of paper. Suddenly, however, the tailor paused. The measure and pencil dropped to the floor. Hertz's hand went unsteadily to his head. He reeled. His limp body fell against Harold. The Freshman was frightened and wondered what to do.
But he was not kept long in suspense. A harassed-looking woman with spectacles riding her nose, a baby held under one arm and a bottle of brandy in her other hand, came hurrying into the room. She did not seem greatly alarmed. Without a word she handed her baby over to Harold to hold. She poured some of the brandy into the pale-faced man.
"It's one of his dizzy spells," she apologized
