first time. "Oh, sure, the 'Diners Out' starts at a quarter-past eight,
and that's just what I wanted to talk to you about."
He turned to Yetta with an engaging smile which, with his black hair and
his dark, melancholy eyes, completely won over that far from
unimpressionable lady.
"Now, Mrs. Lubliner," he began, "your husband is a business man--ain't
it? And if some one comes to him and says, 'Mr. Lubliner, I got here two
garments for the same price--say, for example, two dollars. One of 'em
is made of cheap material, _aber_ plenty of it _mit_ cheap embroidery on
it, understand me; while the other is from finest silk a garment--not
much of it, y'understand, but plain and beautiful.'"
"What for a garment could you got for two dollars?" Elkan
asked--"especially a silk garment?"
"He's only saying for example, Elkan," Yetta interrupted.
"Garments I am only using, so to speak," Milton explained. "What I
really mean is: You got your choice to go to a popular show like the
'Diners Out' or to a really highgrade show, Mr. Lubliner. So I leave it
to you, Mr. Lubliner. Which shall it be?"
Once again he smiled at Yetta.
"Why, to the highgrade show, sure," Yetta replied, and she seized her
husband by the arm. "Come along, Elkan!" she cried; and after Milton
had secured the leather portfolio containing his "Opus 47" they
proceeded immediately to the elevator.
"We could walk over there from here," Milton said when they reached the
sidewalk, and he led the way across town toward Carnegie Hall.
"What for a show is this we are going to see?" Elkan asked. "Also a
musical show?"
Milton nodded.
"The best musical show there is," he declared. "Do you like maybe to
hear good music?"
"I'm crazy about it," Yetta replied.
"Symphonies, concerti and such things?" Milton inquired.
"Symphonies?" Elkan repeated. "What is symphonies?"
"I couldn't explain it to you," Milton said, "because we ain't got time;
_aber_ you would see for yourself. Only one thing I must tell you, Mr.
Lubliner--when the orchestra plays you shouldn't speak nothing--Mrs.
Lubliner neither."
"I wouldn't open my mouth at all," Elkan assured him solemnly; and a few
minutes later Milton seated himself in the last row of the parterre at
Carnegie Hall, with Elkan and Yetta--one each side of him.
"So you ain't never been to a symphony concert before?" Milton began,
leaning toward Elkan; and, as the latter shook his head, a short, stout
person in the adjoining seat raised his eyebrows involuntarily. "Well,
you got a big pleasure in store for you," Milton went on; "and another
thing I must got to tell you: Might you would hear some pretty jumpy
music which you would want to keep time to _mit_ your foot. Don't you do
it!"
Elkan's neighbour concealed a smile with one hand, and then, he, too,
turned to Elkan, who had received Milton's warning with a sulky frown.
"You're friend is right," he said. "People always have to be told that
the first time they go to a symphony concert; and the next time they go
they not only see the wisdom of such advice, but they want to get up and
lick the man that does beat time with his foot."
He accompanied his remark with so gracious a smile that Elkan's frown
immediately relaxed.
"A new beginner couldn't get too much advice," he said, and his
neighbour leaned farther forward and addressed Milton.
"You've chosen a fine program to introduce your friend to good music
with," he said; and therewith began a lively conversation that lasted
until a round of applause signalized the appearance of the conductor.
The next moment he raised his baton and the celli began to sigh the
mournful phrase which ushers in the symphony. Milton leaned back
luxuriously as the woodwind commenced the next phrase; and then, while
the introduction ended with a sweeping crescendo and the tempo suddenly
increased, Elkan sat up and his eyes became fixed on the trombone and
trumpet players.
He maintained this attitude throughout the entire first movement, and it
was not until the conductor's arm fell motionless at his side that he
settled back in his seat.
"Well," Milton asked, "what do you think of it?"
"A-Number-One!" Elkan answered hoarsely. "It would suit me just so well
if it would last the whole evening and we wouldn't have no singing and
dancing at all."
"What do you mean--no singing and dancing!" Milton exclaimed.
"Sure!" Elkan continued. "I wish them fellers would play the whole
evening."
The conductor tapped his desk with his baton.
"Don't worry," Milton commented as he settled himself for the next
movement. "You'll get your wish all right."
Elkan looked inquiringly at his mentor, but Milton only placed his
forefinger to his lips; and thereafter, until the conclusion of the
symphony, the pauses between the movements of the symphony were so brief
that Elkan had no opportunity to make further inquiries.
"Well, neighbour," asked the gentleman on his right, as the musicians
filed off the stage for the ten-minutes' intermission, "what do you
think of your first symphony?"
Elkan smiled and concealed his shyness by clearing his throat.
"The symphony is all right," he said; "but, with all them operators
there, what is the use they are trying to save money hiring only one
foreman?"
"One foreman?" his neighbour cried.
"Sure--the feller with the stick," Elkan went on blandly. "Naturally he
couldn't keep his eye on all them people at oncet--ain't it? I am
watching them fellers, which they are working them big brass machines,
for the last half hour, and except for five or ten minutes they sit
there doing absolutely nothing--just fooling away their time."
"Them fellers ain't fooling away their time," Milton said gravely. "They
ain't got nothing to do only at intervals."
"Then I guess they must pay 'em by piecework--ain't it?" Elkan asked.
"They pay 'em so much a night," Milton explained.
"Well, in that case, Mr. Jassy," Elkan continued, "all I could say is if
I would got working in my place half a dozen fellers which I am paying
by the day, understand me, and the foreman couldn't keep 'em busy only
half the time, _verstehst du_, he would quick look for another job."
Elkan's neighbour on the right had been growing steadily more crimson,
and at last he hurriedly seized his hat and passed out into the aisle.
"That's a pretty friendly feller," Elkan said as he gazed after him. "Do
you happen to know his name?"
"I ain't never heard his name," Milton replied; "but he is seemingly
crazy about music. I seen him here every time I come."
"Well, I don't blame him none," Elkan commented; "because you take the
Harlem Winter Garden, for instance, and though the music is rotten,
understand me, they got the nerve to charge you yet for a lot of food
which half the time you don't want at all; whereas here they didn't even
ask us we should buy so much as a glass beer."
At this juncture the short, stout person returned and proceeded to
entertain Elkan and Yetta by pointing out among the audience the figures
of local and international millionaires.
"And all them fellers is crazy about music too?" Elkan asked.
"So crazy," his neighbour said, "that the little man over there, with
the white beard, spends almost twenty thousand a year on it!"
"And yet," Milton said bitterly, "there's plenty fellers in the city
which year in and year out composes chamber music and symphonic music
which they couldn't themselves make ten dollars a week; and, when it
comes right down to it, none of them millionaires would loosen up to
such new beginners for even five hundred dollars to help them get a
hearing."
The short person received Milton's outburst with a faint smile.
"I've heard that before," he commented, "but I never had the pleasure of
meeting any of those great unknown composers."
"That's because most of 'em is so bashful they ain't got sense enough to
push themselves forward," Milton replied; "_aber_ if you really want to
meet one I could take you to-night yet to a cafe on Delancey Street
where there is playing a trio which the pianist is something you could
really call a genius."
"You don't tell me!" Elkan's neighbour cried. "Why, I should be
delighted to go with you."
"How about it, Mr. Lubliner?" Milton asked. "Are you and Mrs. Lubliner
agreeable to go downtown after the show to the cafe on Delancey Street?
It's a pretty poor neighbourhood already."
Yetta smiled.
"Sure, I know," she said; "but it wouldn't be the first time me and
Elkan was in Delancey Street."
"Then it's agreed that we're all going to hear the genius," Elkan's
neighbour added. "I heard you call one another Jassy and Lubliner--it's
hardly fair you shouldn't know my name too."
He felt in his waistcoat pocket and finally handed a visiting card to
Elkan, who glanced at it hurriedly and with trembling fingers passed it
on to his wife, for it was inscribed in old English type as follows:
+==============================+
| |
| =Mr. Joseph Kammerman= |
| |
| =Fostoria Hotel= |
| |
| =New York= |
| |
+==============================+
"Once and for all, I am telling you, Volkovisk, either you would got to
play music here or quit!" Marculescu cried at eleven o'clock that
evening. "The customers is all the time kicking at the stuff you give
us."
"What d'ye mean, stuff?" Max Merech protested. "That was no stuff, Mr.
Marculescu. That was from Brahms a trio, and it suits me down to the
ground."
"Suits you!" Marculescu exclaimed. "Who in blazes are you?"
"I am _auch_ a customer, Mr. Marculescu," Max replied with dignity.
"_Yow_, a customer!" Marculescu jeered. "You sit here all night on
one cup coffee. A customer, _sagt er_! A loafer--that's what you are!
It ain't you I am making my money from, Merech--it's from them
_Takeefim_[A] uptown; and they want to hear music, not Brahms. So you
hear what I am telling you, Volkovisk! You should play something
good--like 'Wildcat Rag'."
[Footnote A: _Takeefim_--Aristocracy.]
"Wait a minute, Mr. Marculescu," Max interrupted. "Do you mean to told
me them lowlife bums in front there, which makes all that _Geschrei_
over 'Dixerlie' and such like _Narrischkeit_, is _Takeefim_ yet?"
"I don't want to listen to you at all, Merech!" Marculescu shouted.
"I don't care if you want to listen to me _oder_ not," Merech said. "I
was a customer here when you got one little store _mit_ two waiters; and
it was me and all the other fellers you are calling loafers now what
give you, with our few pennies, your first start. Now you are too good
for us with your uptown _Takeefim_. Why, them same _Takeefim_ only comes
here, in the first place, because they want to see what it looks like in
one of the East Side cafes, where they got such good music and such
interesting characters, which sits and drinks coffee and plays chess
_und Tarrok_."
He glared at the enraged Marculescu and waved his hands excitedly.
"What you call loafers they call interesting characters, Mr.
Marculescu," he continued, "and what you call stuff they call good
music--and that's the way it goes, Mr. Marculescu. You are a goose which
is killing its own golden eggs!"
"So!" Marculescu roared. "I am a goose, am I? You loafer, you! Out of
here before I kick you out!"
"You wouldn't kick nothing," Max rejoined, "because I am happy to go out
from here! Where all the time is being played such _Machshovos_ like
'Wildcat Rag,' I don't want to stay at all."
He rose from his chair and flung ten cents on to the table.
"And furthermore," he cried by way of peroration, "people don't got to
come five miles down to Delancey Street to hear 'Wildcat Rag,' Mr.
Marculescu; so, if you keep on playing it, Mr. Marculescu, you will
quick find that it's an elegant tune to bust up to--and that's all I got
to say!"
As he walked away, Marculescu made a sign to his pianist.
"Go ahead, Volkovisk--play 'Wildcat Rag!'" he said. Then he followed Max
to the front of the cafe; and before they reached the front tables, at
which sat the slummers from uptown, Volkovisk began to pound out the
hackneyed melody.
"That's what I think of your arguments, Merech!" Marculescu said,
walking behind the cashier's desk.
Max paused to crush him with a final retort; but even as he began to
deliver it his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, for at that
instant the door opened and there entered a party of four, with Elkan
Lubliner in the van. A moment later, however, Milton Jassy pushed his
guests to one side and strode angrily toward Marculescu.
"_Koosh!_" he bellowed and stamped his foot on the floor, whereat the
music ceased and even the uptown revellers were startled into silence.
Only Marculescu remained unabashed.
"Say," he shouted as he rushed from behind his desk, "what do you think
this joint is?--a joint!"
"I think what I please, Marculescu," Milton said, "and you should tell
Volkovisk to play something decent. Also you should bring us two quarts
from the best Tchampanyer wine--from French wine Tchampanyer, not
_Amerikanischer_."
He waved his hand impatiently and three waiters--half of Marculescu's
entire staff--came on the jump; so that, a moment later, Jassy and his
guests were divested of their wraps and seated at one of the largest
tables facing the piano. It was not until then that Milton descried Max
Merech hovering round the door.
"Merech!" he called. "_Kommen sie 'r ueber!_"
Max shook his head shyly and half-opened the door, but Elkan forestalled
him. He fairly bounded from the table and caught his assistant cutter by
the arm just as he was disappearing on to the sidewalk.
"Max," he said, "what's the matter with you? Ain't you coming in to meet
my wife?"
Max shrugged in embarrassment.
"You don't want me to butt into your party, Mr. Lubliner!" he said.
"Listen, Max," Elkan almost pleaded; "not only do I want you to, but you
would be doing me a big favour if you would come in and join us. Also,
Max, I am going to introduce you as our designer. You ain't got no
objections?"
"Not at all," Max replied, and he followed his employer into the cafe.
"Yetta," Elkan began, "I think you seen Mr. Merech before--ain't it?"
Mrs. Lubliner smiled and extended her hand.
"How do you do, Mr. Merech?" she said; and Max bowed awkwardly.
"Mr. Kammerman," Elkan continued, "this is our designer, Max Merech; and
I could assure you, Mr. Kammerman, a very good one too. He's got a great
eye for colour."
"And a good ear for music," Milton added as Kammerman shook the blushing
dilettante by the hand.
"In fact, Mr. Kammerman, if he has got such taste in designing as he is
showing in music," Milton went on, "he must be a wonder! Nothing suits
him but the best. And now, if you will excuse me, I'll get Volkovisk he
should play you his sonata."
He left the table with his leather portfolio under his arm, and for more
than five minutes he held an earnest consultation with Volkovisk and
the cellist, after which he returned smiling to his seat.
"First Volkovisk plays his sonata, 'Opus 30,'" he explained, "and then
he would do a little thing of my own."
He nodded briskly to Volkovisk, and Kammerman settled himself resignedly
to a hearing of what he anticipated would be a commonplace piece of
music. After the first six measures, however, he sat up straight in his
chair and his face took on an expression of wonder and delight. Then,
resting his elbow on the table, he nursed his cheek throughout the first
movement in a posture of earnest attention.
"Why," he cried as the musician paused, "this man is a genius!"
Max Merech nodded. His face was flushed and his eyes were filled with
tears.
"What did I told you, Mr. Lubliner?" he said; and Jassy raised his hand
for silence while Volkovisk began the second movement. This and the
succeeding movements fully sustained the promise of the earlier portions
of the composition; and when at length Volkovisk rose from the piano
stool and approached the table Kammerman jumped from his chair and wrung
the composer's hand.
"Sit in my chair," he insisted, and snapped his fingers at Marculescu,
who fumed impotently behind the cashier's desk.
"Here," he called; "more wine--and look sharp about it!"
Marculescu obeyed sulkily and again the glasses were filled.
"Gentlemen," Kammerman said, "and Mrs. Lubliner, I ask you to drink to a
great career just beginning."
"Lots of people said that before," Max murmured after he had emptied his
glass.
"They said it," Kammerman replied, "but I pledge it. You shall play no
more in this place, Volkovisk--and here is my hand on it."
Max Merech beamed across the table at his employer.
"Well, Mr. Lubliner," he said, "you lost your chance."
Elkan shrugged and smiled.
"Might you could find another of them genius fellers for me maybe, Max?"
he said.
And therewith Kammerman slapped Milton Jassy on the back.
"By Jove! We forgot your trio," he said. "Play it, Volkovisk, as your
valedictory here."
Again Volkovisk sought the piano, and after whispered instructions to
his assistants he began a rendition of Jassy's "Opus 47," from the
manuscript Milton had brought with him; but, allowing for the faulty
technic of the 'cellist and the uncertainty that attends the first
reading from manuscript of any composition, there was little to
recommend Jassy's work.
"Very creditable!" Kammerman said at the end of the movement. "Perhaps
we might hear the rest."
Max kept his eyes fixed on the table to avoid looking at Jassy, and even
Volkovisk seemed embarrassed as he swung round on the piano stool.
"Well?" he said inquiringly.
Jassy emitted a bitter laugh.
"That'll do, Volkovisk," he replied hoarsely. "I guess it needs
rehearsing."
At this point Max attempted to create a diversion.
"Look at that lady sitting there!" he said. "She puts on a yellow hat to
an old-gold dress. She's committing murder and she don't know it!"
Kammerman seized on the incident as a way of escape from criticising
Jassy's trio.
"That reminds me, Lubliner," he said. "Give me your business card if you
have one with you. I must tell Mr. Dalzell, my cloak buyer, to look over
your line. I'm sure, with a designer of Mr. Merech's artistic instincts
working for you, you will be making up just the highgrade line of goods
we need."
* * * * *
One year later, the usual crowd of first-nighters lounged in the lobby
of the Siddons Theatre during the intermission between the second and
third acts of M. Sidney Benson's newest musical comedy, "Marjory from
Marguery's," and commented with enthusiasm on the song hit of the
show--"My Bleriot Maid." A number of the more gifted even whistled the
melody, skipping the hard part and proceeding by impromptu and
conventional modulation to the refrain, which had been expressly
designed by its composer, Milton Jassy, so as to present no technical
difficulties to the most modest whistler.
Through this begemmed and piping throng, Kammerman and Volkovisk elbowed
their way to the street for a breath of fresh air; and as they reached
the sidewalk Kammerman heaved a sigh of relief.
"What a terrible melody!" he ejaculated.
"But the plot ain't bad," Volkovisk suggested, and Kammerman grinned
involuntarily.
"To be exact, the two plots aren't bad," he said. "It's made up of two
old farces. One of them is '_Embrassons nous, Duval_,' and the other
'_Un Garcon, de chez Gaillard_.'"
"But the costumes are really something which you could call beautiful!"
Volkovisk declared.
"Merech approved the costumes too," Kammerman agreed with a laugh. "He
left after the first act; and he said that if you endured it to the end
you were to be sure to tell Jassy the colorings were splendid!" He lit a
cigarette reflectively. "That man is a regular shark for coloring!" he
said. "It seems that when I first met him that night he was only an
assistant cutter; but Elkan Lubliner made him designer very shortly
afterward--and it has proved a fine thing for both of them. I understand
we bought fifteen thousand dollars' worth of goods from them during the
past year!"
"He deserved all the good luck that came to him," Volkovisk cried; and
Kammerman placed his hand affectionately on his protege's shoulder.
"There's a special Providence that looks after artists," he said as they
reentered the theatre, "whether they paint, write, compose, or design
garments."
CHAPTER FIVE
ONE OF ESAU'S FABLES
THE MOUSE SCRATCHES THE LION'S BACK; THE LION SCRATCHES THE MOUSE'S BACK
"No, Elkan," said Louis Stout, of Flugel & Stout. "When you are coming
to compare Johnsonhurst _mit_ Burgess Park it's already a molehill to a
mountain."
"Burgess Park ain't such high ground neither," Elkan Lubliner retorted.
"Max Kovner says he lives out there on Linden Boulevard three months
only and he gets full up with malaria something terrible."
"Malaria we ain't got it in Burgess Park!" Louis declared. "I am living
there now six years, Elkan, and I never bought so much as a two-grain
quinine pill. Furthermore, Elkan, Kovner's malaria you could catch in
Denver, Colorado, or on an ocean steamer, y'understand; because, with a
lowlife bum like Max Kovner, which he sits up till all hours of the
night--a drinker and a gambler, understand me--you don't got to be a
professor exactly to diagonize his trouble. It ain't malaria, Elkan,
it's _Katzenjammer!_"
"But my Yetta is stuck on Johnsonhurst," Elkan protested, "and she
already makes up her mind we would move out there."
"That was just the way with my wife," Louis said. "For six months she is
crying all the time Ogden Estates; and if I would listen to her, Elkan,
and bought out there, y'understand, instead we would be turning down
offers on our house at an advance of twenty per cent. on the price we
paid for it, we would be considering letting the property go under
foreclosure! You ought to see that place Ogden Estates nowadays,
Elkan--nothing but a bunch of Italieners lives there."
"But----" Elkan began.
"Another thing," Louis Stout broke in: "Out in Johnsonhurst what kind of
society do you got? Moe Rabiner lives there, and Marks Pasinsky lives
there--and _Gott weiss wer noch_. My partner, Mr. Flugel, is approached
the other day with an offer of some property in Johnsonhurst, and I was
really in favour he should take it up; but he says to me, 'Louis,' he
says, 'a place where such people lives like Pasinsky and Rabiner I
wouldn't touch at all!' And he was right, Elkan. Salesmen and designers
only lives in Johnsonhurst; while out in Burgess Park we got a nice
class of people living, Elkan. You know J. Kamin, of the Lee Printemps,
Pittsburgh?"
"Used to was one of our best customers," Philip Scheikowitz replied,
"though he passed us up last year."
"His sister, Mrs. Benno Ortelsburg, lives one house by the other with
me," Louis went on. "Her husband does a big real-estate business there.
Might you also know Julius Tarnowitz, of the Tarnowitz-Wixman Department
Store, Rochester?"
"Bought from us a couple years a small bill," Marcus Polatkin said. "I
wish we could sell him more."
"Well, his brother, Sig Tarnowitz, lives across the street from us,"
Louis cried triumphantly. "Sig's got a fine business there on Fifth
Avenue, Brooklyn."
"What for a business?"
"A furniture business," Louis replied. "And might you would know also
Joel Ribnik, which he is running the McKinnon-Weldon Drygoods Company,
of Cyprus, Pennsylvania?"
"That's the feller what you nearly sold that big bill to last month,
Elkan," Scheikowitz commented.
"Well, his sister is married to a feller by the name Robitscher, of
Robitscher, Smith & Company, the wallpaper house and interior
decorators. They got an elegant place down the street from us."
"But----" Elkan began again.
"But nothing, Elkan!" Marcus Polatkin interrupted with a ferocious wink;
for Louis Stout, as junior partner in the thriving Williamsburg store
of Flugel & Stout, was viewing Polatkin, Scheikowitz & Company's line
preparatory to buying his spring line of dresses. "But nothing, Elkan!
Mr. Stout knows what he is talking about, Elkan; and if I would be you,
instead I would argue with him, understand me, I would take Yetta out to
Burgess Park on Sunday and give the place a look."
"That's the idea!" Louis cried. "And you should come and take dinner
with us first. Mrs. Stout would be delighted."
"What time do you eat dinner?" Philip Scheikowitz asked, frowning
significantly at Elkan.
"Two o'clock," Louis replied, and Polatkin and Scheikowitz nodded in
unison.
"He'll be there," Polatkin declared.