SIMPLE SIMON.
"The appointment you heard them make. I missed the rendezvous."
"Harry Arnold said Wednesday was his locky day----"
"Lucky day," corrected Shagarach.
"His lucky day," said Aronson, "and if the old lady put up he would
break the bank."
"That I understand. A gambling tryst. The old lady is his mother. Put up
means to pay his money. But the place--what was the name of the place?"
"When they left each other Arnold said: 'Wednesday at the Tough-Coat,'
and Kennedy said: 'All right, Harry.'"
"Repeat that word."
"Tough-Coat."
"Repeat it again."
"Tough-Coat."
Still Shagarach looked nonplused. The syllables conveyed no meaning
whatever. Yet Aronson felt sure of the substantial accuracy of his
version.
"Very well." The lawyer dismissed the subject, sent Aronson off on
irrelevant business and gave a few hours of attention to his other
clients. The law's delay had not infected Shagarach. Whatever the matter
he undertook, he was punctual as the clock in its performances, though
not, in the ordinary sense of the word, a methodical man.
Early in the afternoon an unlooked-for visitor took his place among
those waiting in the outer room. Jacob hastened to give him the chair of
precedence, and announced his name to Shagarach, then in closet
conference with an honest-appearing bookkeeper, whose acquittal on a
charge of forgery he had just procured.
"I will see Mr. Rabofsky next," said the lawyer to Jacob.
The man so called was a short, bulky Hebrew, of 60-odd winters (one
would prefer reckoning his years by the more rigorous season). His nose
was like an owl's beak and his beard spread itself luxuriantly over his
face, plainly undefiled of the scissors. The hair was indeterminately
reddish and gray and his eyes were the color of steel. Shagarach bowed
him into his private room, the caller strutting like one accustomed to
homage.
Although the door was closed behind him as usual, Rabofsky glanced
suspiciously around and spoke in the Hebrew jargon--that grafting of
foreign idioms on a German patois which his tribe has carried all over
eastern Europe, and latterly, via Hamburg, into the cities of America.
"It is a long time since we have met, kinsman Shagarach," he said.
"A long time since I have had that honor," replied the lawyer, bowing
with the Hebrew's respect for age.
"Not since your respected father's funeral, I believe. He was one of my
friends, whose memory always remains to uplift me--a glory to our race
and religion."
"My respected father's friends are my friends to the end of my days."
Shagarach's father had been a rabbin or expounder of the sacred books.
Great was the scandal when Rabbi Moses' son abandoned daily attendance
at the synagogue and gave himself over to the ways, though not to the
society, of the gentiles. His mother, with whom he lived, still kept up
the observances of the law, baking the unleavened bread at the paschal
season and purchasing the flesh only of the lawfully butchered ox. Her
son neither praised nor blamed, but she knew he was no longer of
Israel's sects; not even of the mystical Essenes, among whom his father
might be counted, and whose study is the unpronounceable name of God.
Others of his people who lacked a mother's indulgence knew this, and it
was rarely that one of the orthodox children of Israel brought his
worldly troubles to Shagarach.
"Your health is strong under Jehovah, I trust," continued Simon
Rabofsky.
"Have you come to inquire about my health?" asked Shagarach. The old
man's prelude, beginning so fitfully and far away, threatened to prolong
itself interminably.
"Nay, a small affair of consultation which it shall be richly worth your
while to advise upon," answered the other, craftily.
"State the facts with brevity and clearness."
"Speedily, kinsman Shagarach, speedily." Again he looked cautiously
around. "You are aware that out of the savings of my days of hard labor
I occasionally permit the use of small sums to my friends."
"You are a money-lender? That I know. One of my clients desires a loan
of you. Which is it?"
"Not one of your clients, kinsman Shagarach."
"Who?"
"Mrs. Arnold."
Not a muscle of Shagarach's well-schooled countenance quivered, though
the old Jew's eyes almost pierced him as he uttered the name. Opposite
as the two men were in every trait, a substratum of affinity came out in
this deadlock of their glances. On both sides the same set lip, the same
immobile forehead, trained by centuries of traffic to conceal the
fermentation of the powerful brain within.
"I am not acquainted with the lady," said Shagarach.
"But you are acquainted with her estate under the will of her
brother-in-law."
Thoroughly aroused now to his subject, Rabofsky had abandoned his
roundabout manner and pushed his words rapidly forth in an indistinct
growl.
"Slightly so. State the facts."
"I will. Yesterday there came to my office a lady, all veiled, and asked
me for $10,000. 'That is a large sum,' said I. 'You have it,' said she,
'and I want it. I will pay for it.' 'Yes, indeed, you shall pay for it,'
I said to myself, but aloud I only asked her: 'What security could you
give me if I should go about among my friends and trouble them and
trouble myself for your service?' 'The security of my name,' she
answered, proudly, like a queen commanding her scullion. 'I am Mrs.
Arnold, widow of the banker, Henry Arnold, and a daughter of Ezra
Brewster of Lynn.' 'Oh, madam,' said I, 'I am Simon Rabofsky, husband of
Rebecca Rabofsky, and a son of the high priest Levi, who is twice
mentioned in the talmud; but I could not borrow $10,000 without pledging
something more substantial than my great ancestor's name.' Then she
sneered a little under her veil, the proud unbeliever, and took out her
rubies and diamonds and watch--a glittering heap. 'Keep these until I
return you the money,' she said. 'This is not enough,' said I, examining
the stones. 'Have you nothing more?' 'My son's interest in the estate of
the late Prof. Arnold will cover your paltry loan 500 times over.' 'I
will reflect upon the subject,' said I. 'Call again in two days.' So I
came to consult kinsman Shagarach."
"Well?"
"Has her son any interest in Prof. Arnold's estate?"
The question had come point-blank at last and Shagarach found himself
less prepared to answer it than he could have wished.
The Arnolds were financially embarrassed, possibly ruined, by Harry's
infatuation for the gaming-table. This was to be inferred from the
conversation with Kennedy over-heard by Aronson. Their real estate must
be mortgaged to the limit, perhaps beyond its shrunken value, or Mrs.
Arnold would not be begging a loan at a money-lender's shop. Family
jewels were invariably the last resort of declining fortunes unwilling
to abandon cherished appearances. Should he advise the loan and let
Harry cast it away, as he seemed likely to do, in his ambition to "break
the bank?" Such a step might place the young man in his power.
For the standing of the will was still uncertain. Evidence might be in
existence sufficient to uphold the destroyed document. In that event
Mrs. Arnold's promissory note to Rabofsky would be worth no more than
the value of the securities he held. Robert's statement was positive
that Harry was disinherited. This opened up a new view to Shagarach.
It would be fatal to the interests of Floyd if the will should be
ignored and half the estate allowed him as heir-at-law. Such a parade of
the profits of the incendiary's crime could not fail to rearouse a burst
of public indignation which would work its way into the jury-box.
Shagarach determined then and there to strive for the upholding of the
will, though it should mean the ruin of the Arnold fortune and the loss
to Robert Floyd of $5,000,000.
"I do not know," he answered. Something was due to Rabofsky.
"You have waited a long time. You have been thinking. What do you
think?"
"It is a difficult part of a difficult problem. My advice----"
"You will not charge your respected father's friend unreasonably?" put
in the Jew.
Shagarach knew that Rabofsky was a pharisee of the strictest sect and
had not been his father's friend. He knew also that reasonableness of
charge was not one of his own eccentricities, and probably would not be
exemplified in the loan to Mrs. Arnold. But he replied:
"Certainly not. I shall consider that when the work is done."
"Now, kinsman Shagarach."
"Not now. I cannot foresee the amount of labor, the number of
consultations, involved," said Shagarach, resolutely. "Do you wish my
advice?"
"I shall not pay the charge if it is unreasonable," growled Rabofsky.
"For the present I advise you to lend only what you can with safety on
the pledges. I will see Mrs. Arnold about the estate and confer with you
further after our interview."
At that moment Aronson opened the door, his eyes dancing with
excitement. He panted, as if he had just run upstairs.
"Meester Shagarach," he broke in, but stood awed in the presence of
Rabofsky, who was a potent man in the Ghetto.
"Escort Mr. Rabofsky to the stairs," said Shagarach, approaching
Aronson, so that the latter might have an opportunity to whisper his
message. He was none too soon, for a young man had already entered the
door of the outer room.
"Kennedy," whispered Aronson.
It was Harry Arnold's friend.