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y upright pianos lined the walls, each bearing the name Leipzig in gold leaf. Revolving mahogany racks of music flanked a glass-topped counter displaying metronomes and hymnals.
A salesman got up from his desk by the back door. He was a middle-aged German with a military bearing and a cold manner. “Yes?” he demanded.
“I am shopping for a piano for my niece, who has impressed her teacher.”
“Ve have vaiting list for new orders.”
“How long will that be?”
“It is difficult to tell.”
“A month? Two months?”
“More like six months to a year, sir. Our pianos are made carefully. Very carefully.”
“Are they strung with music wire made by Stahl and Drahtwerk?”
The salesman’s jaw tightened.
“Or,” asked Bell, “are the strings from Moritz Poehlmann of Nuremberg?”
The saleman stared straight ahead, his gaze locked on the knot of Isaac Bell’s four-in-hand necktie. At last he said, “I do not know that. But our plates are of cast iron.”
“I would hope so,” said Bell. “Would you play a few of them for me? Let me hear the difference.”
“You may play them, sir.”
“Ah, but sadly I do not. So if you would play for me…”
Again, the tight jaw. Finally, he said, “It is not possible.”
“A man who sells pianos can’t play them?”
“I have injured my hand.”
“I’m so sorry. Could I trouble you to telephone your sales representative.”
“Vat for?”
“I would like to ask whether I could buy an instrument sooner than six months.”
“He is not near.”
“Well, perhaps your head office could help me.”
“No.”
“Then I wonder could I have your representative’s address that I might write him myself.”
“He is traveling.”
Bell stepped to the windows and stood there for a long moment.
Suddenly a stylish crowd of free-spirited young men and women came along the sidewalk and burst in the door. Gaily hailing the salesman, all talking at once, they took a long time to explain they needed to rent a piano for a party tonight. Informed that the shop did not rent pianos, they laughed.
“Then we’ll buy one.”
“We’ll pool our cash.”
