are telling me about Miss Silbermacher interests me, Fischko, and I know
a young feller which he is got more as twenty-five machines a
contracting shop; in fact, Fischko, he is a salesman which he makes
anyhow his fifty to seventy-five dollars a week, and he wants to get
married bad."
"He couldn't want to get married so bad as all that," Fischko commented,
"because there's lots of girls which would be only too glad to marry a
such a young feller--girls with money even."
"I give you right, Mr. Fischko," Kapfer agreed; "but this young feller
ain't the kind that marries for money. What he wants is a nice girl
which she is good-looking like this here Miss Silbermacher and is a good
housekeeper, understand me; and from what I've seen of Miss
Silbermacher she would be just the person."
"What's his name?" Fischko asked.
"His name," said Kapfer, "is Ury Shemansky, a close friend from mine;
and I got a date with him at twelve o'clock on the corner drug store at
One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street that I should tell him how I came
out this evening." He seized his hat from an adjoining hook. "So, if
you'd wait here a few minutes," he said, "I would go and fetch him right
round here. Shall I order another bottle before I go?"
Fischko shook his head.
"I got enough," he said; "and don't be long on account I must be going
home soon."
Kapfer nodded, and five minutes later he entered the all-night drug
store in question and approached a young man who was seated at the soda
fountain. In front of him stood a large glass of "Phospho-Nervino,"
warranted to be "A Speedy and Reliable Remedy for Nervous Headache,
Sleeplessness, Mental Fatigue and Depression following Over-Brainwork";
and as he was about to raise the glass to his lips Kapfer slapped him on
the shoulder.
"Cheer up, Elkan," he exclaimed. "Her name is Yetta Silbermacher and
she's got in savings bank eight hundred dollars."
"What d'ye mean she's got money in savings bank?" Elkan protested
wearily, for the sleepless, brain-fatigued and depressed young man was
none other than Elkan Lubliner. "Did you seen her?"
"I did," Kapfer replied; "and Miss Maslik's a fine, lovely girl. The old
man ain't so bad either. He treated me elegant and Fischko thinks I made
quite a hit there."
"I ain't asking you about Miss Maslik at all," Elkan said. "I mean Miss
Silbermacher"--he hesitated and blushed--"Yetta," he continued, and
buried his confusion in the foaming glass of "Phospho-Nervino."
"That's just what I want to talk to you about," Kapfer went on. "Did I
understand you are telling Polatkin that you never seen Fischko the
_Shadchen_ and he never seen you neither?"
"That's right," Elkan replied.
"Then come right down with me to the Harlem Winter Garden," Kapfer said.
"I want you to meet him. He ain't a bad sort, even if he would be a
_Shadchen_."
"But what should I want to meet him for?" Elkan cried.
"Because," Kapfer explained, "I am going to marry this here Miss Maslik,
Elkan; and I'm going to improve my store property, so that my trade will
be worth to Polatkin & Scheikowitz anyhow three thousand dollars a
year--ain't it?"
"What's that got to do with it?" Elkan asked.
"It's got this much to do with it," Kapfer continued: "To-morrow
afternoon two o'clock I would have Polatkin and Scheikowitz at my room
in the Prince Clarence. You also would be there--and d'ye know who else
would be there?"
Elkan shook his head.
"Miss Yetta Silbermacher," Kapfer went on; "because I am going to get
Fischko to bring her down there to meet an eligible party by the name
Ury Shemansky."
"What?" Elkan exclaimed.
"Ssh-sh!" Kapfer cried reassuringly. "I am going to introduce you to
Fischko right away as Ury Shemansky, provided he ain't so _shikker_ when
I get back that he wouldn't recognize you at all."
Elkan nodded and paid for his restorative, and on their way down to the
Harlem Winter Garden they perfected the details of the appointment for
the following afternoon.
"The reason why I am getting Fischko to bring her down," Kapfer
explained, "is because, in the first place, it looks pretty _schlecht_
that a feller should meet a girl only once and, without the help of a
_Shadchen_, gets right away engaged to her; and so, with Fischko the
_Shadchen_ there, it looks better for you both. Furthermore, in the
second place, a girl which is doing housework, Elkan, must got to have
an excuse, understand me; otherwise she couldn't get away from her work
at all."
"But," Elkan said, "how do you expect that Yetta would go with a
_Shadchen_ to see this here Ury Shemansky when she is already engaged to
me?"
"_Schafskopf!_" Kapfer exclaimed. "Telephone her the first thing
to-morrow morning that you are this here Ury Shemansky and she would
come quick enough!"
"That part's all right," Elkan agreed; "but I don't see yet how you are
going to get Polatkin and Scheikowitz there."
Kapfer nodded his head with spurious confidence; for of this, perhaps
the most important part of his plan, he felt extremely doubtful.
"Leave that to me," he said sagely, and the next moment they entered the
Harlem Winter Garden to find Charles Fischko gazing sadly at a solution
of bicarbonate of soda and ammonia, a tumblerful of which stood in front
of him on the table.
"Mr. Fischko," Kapfer said, "this is my friend Ury Shemansky, the
gentleman I was speaking to you about."
"No relation to Shemansky who used to was in the customer pedler
business on Ridge Street?" Fischko asked.
"Not as I've heard," Elkan said.
"Because there's a feller, understand me, which he went to work and
married a poor girl; and ever since he's got nothing but _Mazel_. The
week afterward he found in the street a diamond ring worth two hundred
dollars, and the next month a greenhorn comes over with ten thousand
rubles and wants to go as partners together with him in business. In a
year's time Shemansky dissolves the partnership and starts in the
remnant business with five thousand dollars net capital. He ain't been
established two weeks, understand me, when a liquor saloon next door
burns out and he gets a thousand dollars smoke damage; and one thing
follows another, y'understand, till to-day he's worth easy his fifty
thousand dollars. That's what it is to marry a poor girl, Mr.
Shemansky." He took a pull at the tumbler of bicarbonate and made an
involuntary grimace. "Furthermore, I am knowing this here Miss
Silbermacher ever since she is born, pretty nearly!" Fischko cried.
"You did!" Elkan exclaimed. "Well, why didn't you tell me that, Kapfer?"
"I couldn't think of everything," Kapfer protested.
"Go ahead," Elkan said, turning to Fischko; "let me know all about
her--everything! I think I got a right to know--ain't it?"
"Sure you have," Fischko said as he cleared his throat oratorically; and
therewith he began a laudatory biography of Yetta Silbermacher, while
Elkan settled himself to listen. With parted lips and eyes shining his
appreciation, he heard a narrative that justified beyond peradventure
his choice of a wife, and when Fischko concluded he smote the table with
his fist.
"By jiminy!" he cried. "A feller should ought to be proud of a wife like
that!"
"Sure he should," Kapfer said; "and her and Fischko would be down at my
room at the Prince Clarence to-morrow at two."
He beckoned to the waiter. "So let's pay up and go home," he concluded;
"and by to-morrow night Fischko would got two matches to his credit."
"_K'mo she-neemar_," Fischko said as he rose a trifle laboriously to his
feet, "it is commanded to promote marriages, visit the sick and bury the
dead."
"And," Kapfer added, "you'll notice that promoting marriages comes ahead
of the others."
* * * * *
When Marcus Polatkin arrived at his place of business the following
morning he looked round him anxiously for his partner, who had departed
somewhat early the previous day with the avowed intention of seeing just
how sick Elkan was. As a matter of fact, Scheikowitz had discovered
Elkan lying on the sofa at his boarding place, vainly attempting to
secure his first few minutes' sleep in over thirty-six hours; and he had
gone home truly shocked at Elkan's pallid and careworn appearance,
though Elkan had promised to keep the appointment with Fischko. Polatkin
felt convinced, however, that his partner must have discovered the
pretence of Elkan's indisposition, and his manner was a trifle
artificial when he inquired after the absentee.
"How was he feeling, Philip?" he asked.
"Pretty bad, I guess," Scheikowitz replied, whereat a blank expression
came over Polatkin's face. "The boy works too hard, I guess. He ain't
slept a wink for two days."
"Why, he seemed all right yesterday when I seen him," Polatkin declared.
"Yesterday?" Scheikowitz exclaimed.
"I mean the day before yesterday," Polatkin added hastily as the
elevator door opened and a short, stout person alighted. He wore a
wrinkled frock coat and a white tie which perched coquettishly under his
left ear; and as he approached the office he seemed to be labouring
under a great deal of excitement.
"Oo-ee!" he wailed as he caught sight of Polatkin, and without further
salutation he sank into the nearest chair. There he bowed his head in
his hands and rocked to and fro disconsolately.
"Who's this crazy feller?" Scheikowitz demanded of his partner.
Polatkin shrugged.
"He's a button salesman by the name Rashkind," Polatkin said. "Leave me
deal with him." He walked over to the swaying _Shadchen_ and shook him
violently by the shoulder. "Rashkind," he said, "stop that nonsense and
tell me what's the matter."
Rashkind ceased his moanings and looked up with bloodshot eyes.
"She's engaged!" he said.
"She's engaged!" Polatkin repeated. "And you call yourself a
_Shadchen_!" he said bitterly.
"A _Shadchen_!" Scheikowitz cried. "Why, I thought you said he was a
button salesman."
"Did I?" Polatkin retorted. "Well, maybe he is, Scheikowitz; but he
ain't no _Shadchen_. Actually the feller goes to work and takes Elkan up
to see the girl, and they put him off by saying the girl was sick; and
now he comes down here and tells me the girl is engaged."
"Well," Scheikowitz remarked, "you couldn't get no sympathy from me,
Polatkin. A feller which acts underhand the way you done, trying to make
up a _Shidduch_ for Elkan behind my back yet--you got what you
deserved."
"What d'ye mean I got what I deserved?" Polatkin said indignantly. "Do
you think it would be such a bad thing for us--you and me both,
Scheikowitz--if I could of made up a match between Elkan and B. Maslik's
a daughter?"
"B. Maslik's a daughter!" Scheikowitz cried. "Do you mean that this here
feller was trying to make up a match between Elkan and Miss Birdie
Maslik?"
"That's just what I said," Polatkin announced.
"Then I can explain the whole thing," Scheikowitz rejoined
triumphantly. "Miss Maslik had a date to meet Elkan last night yet with
a _Shadchen_ by the name Charles Fischko, and that's why B. Maslik told
this here button salesman that his daughter was engaged."
Rashkind again raised his head and regarded Scheikowitz with a
malevolent grin.
"_Schmooes!_" he jeered. "Miss Maslik is engaged and the _Shadchen_ was
Charles Fischko, but the _Chosan_ ain't Elkan Lubliner by a damsight."
It was now Polatkin's turn to gloat, and he shook his head slowly up and
down.
"So, Scheikowitz," he said, "you are trying to fix up a _Shidduch_
between Elkan and Miss Maslik without telling me a word about it, and
you get the whole thing so mixed up that it is a case of trying to sit
between two chairs! You come down _mit_ a big bump and I ain't got no
sympathy for you neither."
"What was the feller's name?" Scheikowitz demanded hoarsely of Rashkind,
who was straightening out his tie and smoothing his rumpled hair.
"It's a funny quincidence," Rashkind replied; "but you remember, Mr.
Polatkin, I was talking to you the other day about Julius Flixman?"
"Yes," Polatkin said, and his heart began to thump in anticipation of
the answer.
"Well, Julius Flixman, as I told you, sold out his store to a feller by
the name Max Kapfer," Rashkind said and paused again.
"_Nu!_" Scheikowitz roared. "What of it?"
"Well, this here Max Kapfer is engaged to be married to Miss Birdie
Maslik," Rashkind concluded; and when Scheikowitz looked from Rashkind
toward his partner the latter had already proceeded more than halfway to
the telephone.
"And that's what your _Shadchen_ done for you, Mr. Scheikowitz!"
Rashkind said as he put on his hat. He walked to the elevator and rang
the bell.
"Yes, Mr. Scheikowitz," Rashkind added, "as a _Shadchen_, maybe I am a
button salesman; but I'd a whole lot sooner be a button salesman as a
thief and don't you forget it!"
After the elevator had borne Rashkind away Scheikowitz went back to the
office in time to hear Marcus engaged in a noisy altercation with the
telephone operator of the Prince Clarence Hotel.
"What d'ye mean he ain't there?" he bellowed. "With you it's always the
same--I could never get nobody at your hotel."
He hung up the receiver with force almost sufficient to wreck the
instrument.
"That'll do, Polatkin!" Scheikowitz said. "We already got half our
furniture smashed."
"Did I done it?" Polatkin growled--the allusion being to the chair
demolished by Scheikowitz on the previous day.
"You was the cause of it," Scheikowitz retorted; "and, anyhow, who are
you ringing up at the Prince Clarence?"
"I'm ringing up that feller Kapfer," Polatkin replied. "I want to tell
that sucker what I think of him."
Then it was that Kapfer's theory as to the effect of his engagement on
his relations with Polatkin & Scheikowitz became justified in fact.
"You wouldn't do nothing of the kind," Scheikowitz declared. "It ain't
bad enough that Elkan loses this here _Shidduch_, but you are trying to
Jonah a good account also! Why, that feller Kapfer's business after he
marries Miss Maslik would be easy worth to us three thousand dollars a
year."
"I don't care what his business is worth," Polatkin shouted. "I would
say what I please to that highwayman!"
"What do you want to do?" Scheikowitz pleaded--"bite off your nose to
spoil your face?"
Polatkin made no reply and he was about to go into the showroom when the
telephone bell rang.
"Leave me answer it," Scheikowitz said; and a moment later he picked up
the desk telephone and placed the receiver to his ear.
"Hello!" he said. "Yes, this is Polatkin & Scheikowitz. This is Mr.
Scheikowitz talking."
Suddenly the instrument dropped with a clatter to the floor; and while
Scheikowitz was stooping to pick it up Polatkin rushed into the office.
"Scheikowitz!" he cried. "What are you trying to do--break up our whole
office yet? Ain't it enough you are putting all our chairs on the bum
already?"
Scheikowitz contented himself by glaring viciously at his partner and
again placed the receiver to his ear.
"Hello, Mr. Kapfer," he said. "Yes, I heard it this morning already.
Them things travels fast, Mr. Kapfer. No, I don't blame you--I blame
this here Fischko. He gives me a dirty deal--that's all."
Here there was a long pause, while Polatkin stood in the middle of the
office floor like a bird-dog pointing at a covey of partridges.
"But why couldn't you come down here, Mr. Kapfer?" Scheikowitz asked.
Again there was a long pause, at the end of which Scheikowitz said:
"Wait a minute--I'll ask my partner."
"Listen here, Polatkin," he said, placing his hand over the transmitter.
"Kapfer says he wants to give us from two thousand five hundred dollars
an order, and he wants you and me to go up to the Prince Clarence at two
o'clock to see him. He wants us both there because he wants to arrange
terms of credit."
"I would see him hung first!" Polatkin roared, and Scheikowitz took his
hand from the transmitter.
"All right, Mr. Kapfer," he answered in dulcet tones; "me and Polatkin
will both be there. Good-bye."
He hung up the receiver with exaggerated care.
"And you would just bet your life that we will be there!" he said. "And
that's all there is to it!"
* * * * *
At half-past one that afternoon, while Max Kapfer was enjoying a good
cigar in the lobby of the Prince Clarence, he received an unexpected
visitor in the person of Julius Flixman.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Flixman?" he cried, dragging forth a chair.
Flixman extended a thin, bony hand in greeting and sat down wearily.
"I don't do so good, Kapfer," he said. "I guess New York don't agree
with me." He distorted his face in what he intended to be an amiable
smile. "But I guess it agrees with you all right," he continued. "I
suppose I must got to congradulate you on account you are going to be
engaged to Miss Birdie Maslik."
"Why, who told you about it?" Kapfer asked.
"I met this morning a real-estater by the name Rashkind, which he is
acquainted with the Maslik family," Flixman replied, "and he says it
happened yesterday. Also they told me up at the hotel you was calling
there this morning to see me."
"That's right," Kapfer said; "and you was out."
"I was down to see a feller on Center Street," Flixman went on, "and so
I thought, so long as you wanted to fix up about the note, I might just
as well come down here."
"I'm much obliged to you," Kapfer interrupted.
"Not at all," Flixman continued. "When a feller wants to pay you money
and comes to see you once to do it and you ain't in, understand me, then
it's up to you to go to him; so here I am."
"But the fact is," Kapfer said, "I didn't want to see you about paying
the money exactly. I wanted to see you about not paying it."
"About not paying it?" Flixman cried.
"Sure!" Kapfer replied. "I wanted to see if you wouldn't give me a
year's extension for that last thousand on account I am going to get
married; and with what Miss Maslik would bring me, y'understand, and
your thousand dollars which I got here, I would just have enough to fix
up my second floor and build a twenty-five-foot extension on the rear.
You see, I figure it this way." He searched his pocket for a piece of
paper and produced a fountain pen. "I figure that the fixtures cost me
twenty-two hundred," he began, "and----"
At this juncture Flixman flipped his fingers derisively.
"Pipe dreams you got it!" he said. "That store as it stands was good
enough for me, and it should ought to be good enough for you.
Furthermore, Kapfer, if you want to invest Maslik's money and your own
money, _schon gut_; but me, I could always put a thousand dollars into a
bond, Kapfer. So, if it's all the same to you, I'll take your check and
call it square."
Kapfer shrugged resignedly.
"I had an idee you would," he said, "so I got it ready for you; because,
Mr. Flixman, you must excuse me when I tell you that you got the
reputation of being a good collector."
"Am I?" Flixman snapped out. "Well, maybe I am, Kapfer, but I could give
my money up, too, once in a while; and, believe me or not, Kapfer, this
afternoon yet I am going to sign a will which I am leaving all my money
to a Talmud Torah School."
"You don't say so?" Kapfer said as he drew out his checkbook.
"That's what I am telling you," Flixman continued, "because there's a
lot of young loafers running round the streets which nobody got any
control over 'em at all; and if they would go to a Talmud Torah School,
understand me, not only they learn 'em there a little _Loschen
Hakodesch_, y'understand, but they would also pretty near club the life
out of 'em."
"I'll write out a receipt on some of the hotel paper here," Kapfer said
as he signed and blotted the check.
"Write out two of 'em, so I would have a copy of what I am giving you,"
Flixman rejoined. "It's always just so good to be businesslike. That's
what I told that lawyer to-day. He wants me I should remember a couple
of orphan asylums he's interested in, and I told him that if all them
suckers would train up their children they would learn a business and
not holler round the streets and make life miserable for people, they
wouldn't got to be orphans at all. Half the orphans is that way on
account they worried their parents to death with their carryings-on, and
when they go to orphan asylums they get treated kind yet. And people is
foolish enough to pay a lawyer fifty dollars if he should draw up a will
to leave the orphan asylum their good hard-earned money."
He snorted indignantly as he examined Kapfer's receipt and compared it
with the original.
"Well," he concluded as he appended his signature to the receipt, "I got
him down to twenty-five dollars and I'll have that will business settled
up this afternoon yet."
He placed the check and the receipt in his wallet and shook hands with
Kapfer.
"Good-bye," he said. "And one thing let me warn you against: A _Chosan_
should always get his money in cash _oder_ certified check before he
goes under the _Chuppah_ at all; otherwise, after you are married and
your father-in-law is a crook, understand me, you could kiss yourself
good-bye with your wife's dowry--and don't you forget it!"
Max walked with him down the lobby; and they had barely reached the
entrance when Charles Fischko and Miss Yetta Silbermacher arrived.
"Hello, Fischko!" Max cried, as Flixman tottered out into the
street; but Fischko made no reply. Instead he suddenly let go Miss
Silbermacher's arm and dashed hurriedly to the sidewalk. Max led Miss
Silbermacher to a chair and engaged her immediately in conversation. She
was naturally a little embarrassed by her unusual surroundings, though
she was becomingly--not to say fashionably--attired in garments of her
own making; and she gazed timidly about her for her absent lover.
"Elkan ain't here yet," Max explained, "on account you are a little
ahead of time."
Miss Silbermacher's brown eyes sparkled merrily.
"I ain't the only one," she said as she jumped to her feet; for, though
the hands of the clock on the desk pointed to ten minutes to two, Elkan
Lubliner approached from the direction of the cafe. He caught sight of
them while he was still some distance away, and two overturned chairs
marked the last of his progress toward them.
At first he held out his hand in greeting; but the two little dimples
that accompanied Yetta's smile overpowered his sense of propriety, and
he embraced her affectionately.
"Where's Fischko?" he asked.
Both Kapfer and Miss Silbermacher looked toward the street entrance.
"He was here a minute ago," Kapfer said.
"Did you tell him that I wasn't Ury Shemansky at all?" Elkan inquired.
"Sure I did," Miss Silbermacher replied, "and he goes on something
terrible, on account he says Mr. Kapfer told him last night you was
already engaged; so I told him I know you was engaged because I am the
party you are engaged to."
She squeezed Elkan's hand.
"And he says then," she continued, "that if that's the case what do we
want him down here for? So I told him we are going to meet Mr. Polatkin
and Mr. Scheikowitz, and----"
"And they'll be right here in a minute," Kapfer interrupted; "so you go
upstairs to my room and I'll find Fischko and bring him up also."
He conducted them to the elevator, and even as the door closed behind
them Fischko came running up the hall.
"Kapfer," he said, "who was that feller which he was just here talking
to you?"
"What d'ye want to know for?" Kapfer asked.
"Never mind what I want to know for!" Fischko retorted. "Who is he?"
"Well, if you must got to know," Kapfer said, "he's a feller by the name
Julius Flixman."
"What?" Fischko shouted.
"Fischko," Kapfer protested, "you ain't in no Canal Street coffee house
here. This is a first-class hotel."
Fischko nodded distractedly.
"Sure, I know," he said. "Is there a place we could sit down here? I
want to ask you something a few questions."
Kapfer led the way to the cafe and they sat down at a table near the
door.
"Go ahead, Fischko," he said. "Polatkin and Scheikowitz will be here any
minute."
"Well," Fischko began falteringly, "if this here feller is Julius
Flixman, which he is coming from Bessarabia _schon_ thirty years ago
already, I don't want to do nothing in a hurry, Mr. Kapfer, on account I
want to investigate first how things stand."
"What d'ye mean?" Kapfer demanded.
"Why, I mean this," Fischko cried: "If this here Flixman is well fixed,
Kapfer, I want to know it, on account Miss Yetta Silbermacher is from
Flixman's sister a daughter, understand me!"
Kapfer lit a cigar deliberately before replying. He was thinking hard.