embarrassment, he felt obliged to crack each of his knuckles in turn. As
for Ribnik and Tarnowitz, they sat awestruck in the rear of Feldman's
spacious library and felt vaguely that they were in a place of worship.
Only Kent J. Goldstein remained unimpressed; and in order to show it he
scratched a parlour match on the leg of Feldman's library table; whereat
Feldman's _ex-cathedra_ manner forsook him.
"Where in blazes do you think you are, Goldstein?" he asked in
colloquial tones--"in a barroom?"
"If it's solid mahogany," Goldstein retorted, "it'll rub up like new. I
think you were talking about the tenancy of the premises here."
Feldman choked down his indignation and once more became the dignified
advocate.
"That is not the only objection to title, Mr. Goldstein," he said. "Mr.
Jones, kindly read the detailed objections contained in your report of
closing."
Mr. Jones nodded again and responded to Feldman's demand in a voice
that profoundly justified the size of his larynx.
"Description in deed dated January 1, 1783," he began, "from Joost van
Gend to William Wauters, is defective; one course reading 'thence along
said ditch north to a white-oak tree' should be 'south to a white-oak
tree.'"
"Well, what's the difference?" Goldstein interrupted. "It's monumented
by the white-oak tree."
"That was cut down long ago," Mr. Jones said.
"Not by me!" Glaubmann declared. "I give you my word, gentlemen, the
trees on the lot is the same like I bought it."
Feldman allowed his eyes to rest for a moment on the protesting
Glaubmann, who literally crumpled in his chair.
"Proceed, Mr. Jones," Feldman said to the title company's
representative, who continued without further interruption to the end of
his list. This included all the technical objections which Glaubmann had
feared, as well as a novel and interesting point concerning a partition
suit in Chancery, brought in 1819, and affecting Glaubmann's chain of
title to a strip in the rear of his lot, measuring one quarter of an
inch in breadth by seven feet in length.
"So far as I can see, Feldman," Goldstein commented as Mr. Jones laid
down his report, "the only objection that will hold water is the one
concerning Max Kovner's tenancy. As a matter of fact, I have witnesses
to show that Kovner has always claimed that he didn't hold a lease."
For answer, Feldman touched the button of an electric bell.
"Show in Mr. and Mrs. Kovner," he said to the boy who responded. "We'll
let them speak for themselves."
This, it would appear, they were more than willing to do; for as soon as
they entered the room and caught sight of Glaubmann, who by this time
was fairly cowering in his chair, they immediately began a concerted
tirade that was only ended when Goldstein banged vigorously on the
library table, using as a gavel one of Feldman's metal-tipped rulers.
"That'll do, Goldstein!" Feldman said hoarsely. "I think I can preserve
order in my own office."
"Why don't you then?" Goldstein retorted, as he leaned back in his chair
and regarded with a malicious smile the damage he had wrought.
"Yes, Mr. Glaubmann," Kovner began anew, "you thought you got us
helpless there in your house; but----"
"Shut up!" Feldman roared again, forgetting his role of the polished
advocate; and Goldstein fairly beamed with satisfaction.
"Don't bully your own witness," he said. "Let me do it for you."
He turned to Kovner with a beetling frown.
"Now, Kovner," he commenced, "you claim you've got a verbal lease for a
year of this Linden Boulevard house, don't you?"
"I sure do," Kovner replied, "and I got witnesses to prove it."
"That's all right," Goldstein rejoined; "so long as there's Bibles
there'll always be witnesses to swear on 'em. The point is: How do you
claim the lease was made?"
"I don't claim nothing," Kovner replied. "I got a year's lease on that
property because, in the presence of my wife and his wife, Mr.
Goldstein, he says to me I must either take the house for a year from
last October to next October or I couldn't take it at all."
Feldman smiled loftily at his opponent.
"The art of cross-examination is a subtle one, Goldstein," he said, "and
if you don't understand it you're apt to prove the other fellow's case."
"Nevertheless," Goldstein continued, "I'm going to ask him one more
question, and that is this: When was this verbal agreement made--before
or after you moved into the house?"
"Before I moved in, certainly," Kovner answered. "I told you that he
says to me I couldn't move in unless I would agree to take the place for
a year."
"And when did you move in?" Goldstein continued.
"On the first of October," Kovner said.
"No, popper," Mrs. Kovner interrupted; "we didn't move in on the first.
We moved in the day before."
"That's right," Kovner said--"we moved in on the thirtieth of
September."
"So," Goldstein declared, "you made a verbal agreement before September
thirtieth for a lease of one year from October first?"
Kovner nodded and Goldstein turned to Henry D. Feldman, whose lofty
smile had completely disappeared.
"Well, Feldman," he said, "you pulled a couple of objections on me from
'way back in the last century, understand me; so I guess it won't hurt
if I remind you of a little statute passed in the reign of Charles the
Second, which says: 'All contracts which by their terms are not to be
performed within one year must be in writing and signed by the party to
be charged.' I mean the Statute of Frauds."
"I know what you mean all right," Feldman replied; "but you'll have to
prove that before a court and jury. Just now we are confronted with
Kovner, who claims to have a year's lease; and my client is relieved
from his purchase in the circumstances. No man is bound to buy a
lawsuit, Goldstein."
"I know he ain't," Goldstein retorted; "but what's the difference,
Feldman? He'll have a lawsuit on his hands, anyhow, because if he don't
take title now, understand me, I'll bring an action to compel him to do
so this very afternoon."
At this juncture a faint croaking came from the vicinity of Louis Stout,
who throughout had been as appreciative a listener as though he were
occupying an orchestra chair and had bought his seat from a speculator.
"Speak up, Mr. Stout!" Feldman cried.
"I was saying," Louis replied faintly, "that with my own ears I heard
Glaubmann say to Kovner that he's got a verbal lease for one year."
"And when was this?" Feldman asked.
"About three weeks ago," Stout replied.
"Then, in that case, Mr. Goldstein," Feldman declared, "let me present
to you another proposition of law."
He paused to formulate a sufficiently impressive "offer" as the lawyers
say, and in the silence that followed Elkan shuffled to his feet.
"It ain't necessary, Mr. Feldman," he said. "I already made up my mind
about it."
"About what?" Louis Stout exclaimed.
"About taking the house," Elkan replied. "If you'll let me have the
figures, Mr. Feldman, I'll draw a check and have it certified and we'll
close this thing up."
"_Aber_, Elkan," Louis cried, "first let me communicate with Flugel."
"That ain't necessary neither," Elkan retorted. "I'm going to make an
end right here and now; and you should be so good, Mr. Feldman, and fix
me up the statement of what I owe here. I want to get through."
Polatkin rose shakily to his feet.
"What's the matter, Elkan?" he said huskily. "Are you crazy, _oder_
what?"
"Sit down, Mr. Polatkin," Elkan commanded, and there was a ring of
authority in his tone that made Polatkin collapse into his chair. "I am
buying this house."
"But, Elkan," Louis Stout implored, "why don't you let me talk to Flugel
over the 'phone? Might he would got a suggestion to make maybe."
"That's all right," Elkan said. "The only suggestion he makes is that if
I go to work and close this contract, y'understand, he would never buy
another dollar's worth of goods from us so long as he lives. So you
shouldn't bother to ring him up, Mr. Stout."
Louis Stout flushed angrily.
"So far as that goes, Lubliner," he says, "I don't got to ring up Mr.
Flugel to tell you the same thing, so you know what you could do."
"Sure I know what I could do," Elkan continued. "I could either do
business like a business man or do business like a muzhik, Mr. Stout.
_Aber_ this ain't _Russland_, Mr. Stout--this is America; and if I got
to run round wiping people's shoes to sell goods, then I don't want to
do it at all."
J. Kamin took a cigar out of his mouth and spat vigorously.
"You're dead right, Elkan," he said. "Go ahead and close the contract
and I assure you you wouldn't regret it."
Elkan's eyes blazed and he turned on Kamin.
"You assure me!" he said. "Who in thunder are you? Do you think I'm
looking for your business now, Kamin? Why, if you was worth your salt as
a merchant, understand me, instead you would be fooling away your time
trying to make a share of a commission, which the most you would get out
of it is a hundred dollars, y'understand, you would be attending to your
business buying your spring line. You are wasting two whole days on this
deal, Kamin; and if two business days out of your spring buying is only
worth a hundred dollars to you, Kamin, go ahead and get your goods
somewheres else than in our store. I don't need to be Dun or Bradstreet
to get a line on you, Kamin--and don't you forget it!"
At this juncture a faint cough localized Joel Ribnik, who had remained
with Julius Tarnowitz in the obscurity cast by several bound volumes of
digests and reports.
"Seemingly, Mr. Polatkin," he said, "you are a millionaire concern, the
way your partner talks! Might you don't need our business, neither,
maybe?"
Polatkin was busy checking the ravages made upon his linen by the
perspiration that literally streamed down his face and neck; but
Scheikowitz, who had listened open-mouthed to Elkan's pronunciamento,
straightened up in his chair and his face grew set with determination.
"We ain't millionaires, Mr. Ribnik," he said--"far from it; and we ain't
never going to be, understand me, if we got to buy eighteen-thousand
dollar houses for every bill of goods we sell to _Schnorrers_ and
deadbeats!"
"Scheikowitz!" Polatkin pleaded.
"Never mind, Polatkin," Scheikowitz declared. "The boy is right,
Polatkin; and if we are making our living in America we got to act like
Americans--not peasants. So, go ahead, Stout. Telephone Flugel and tell
him from me that if he wants to take it that way he should do so; and
you, too, Stout--and that's all there is to it!"
"Then I apprehend, gentlemen, that we had better proceed to close,"
Feldman said; and Elkan nodded, for as Scheikowitz finished speaking a
ball had risen in Elkan's throat which, blink as he might, he could not
down for some minutes.
"All right, Goldstein," Feldman continued. "Let's fix up the statement
of closing."
"One moment, gentlemen," Max Kovner said. "Do I understand that, if
Elkan Lubliner buys the house to-day, we've got to move out?"
Feldman raised his eyebrows.
"I think Mr. Goldstein will agree with me, Kovner, when I say you
haven't a leg to stand on," he declared. "You're completely out of court
on your own testimony."
"You mean we ain't got a lease for a year?" Mrs. Kovner asked.
"That's right," Goldstein replied.
"And I am working my fingers to the bone getting rid of them
_verfluchte_ painters and all!" she wailed. "What do you think I am
anyway?"
"Well, if you don't want to move right away," Elkan began, "when would
it be convenient for you to get out, Mrs. Kovner?"
"I don't want to get out at all," she whimpered. "Why should I want to
get out? The house is an elegant house, which I just planted yesterday
string beans and tomatoes; and the parlor looks elegant now we got the
old paper off."
"Supposing we say the first of May," Elkan suggested--"not that I am so
crazy to move out to Burgess Park, y'understand; but I don't see what is
the sense buying a house in the country and then not living in it."
There was a brief silence, broken only by the soft weeping of Mrs.
Kovner; and at length Max Kovner shrugged his shoulders.
"_Nu_, Elkan," he said, "what is the use beating bushes round? Mrs.
Kovner is stuck on the house and so am I. So long as you don't want the
house, and there's been so much trouble about it and all, I tell you
what I'll do: Take back two thousand dollars a second mortgage on the
house, payable in one year at six per cent., which it is so good as
gold, understand me, and I'll relieve you of your contract and give you
two hundred dollars to boot."
A smile spread slowly over Elkan's face as he looked significantly at
Louis Stout.
"I don't want your two hundred dollars, Max," he said. "You can have the
house and welcome; and you should use the two hundred to pay your
painting and plumbing bills."
"That's all right," Louis Stout said; "there is people which will see to
it that he does. Also, gentlemen, I want everybody to understand that I
claim full commission here from Glaubmann as the only broker in the
transaction!"
"_Nu_, gentlemen," Glaubmann said; "I'll leave this to the lawyers if it
ain't so: From one transaction I can only be liable for one
commission--ain't it?"
Feldman and Goldstein nodded in unison.
"Then all I could say is that yous brokers and drygoods merchants should
fight it out between yourselves," he declared; "because I'm going to
pay the money for the commission into court--and them which is entitled
to it can have it."
"But ain't you going to protect me, Glaubmann?" Ortelsburg demanded.
Glaubmann raised his hand for silence.
"One moment, Ortelsburg," he said. "I think it was you and Kamin told me
that real estate is a game the same like auction pinocle?"
Ortelsburg nodded sulkily.
"Then you fellers should go ahead and play it," Glaubmann concluded.
"And might the best man win!"[B]
[Footnote B: In the face of numerous decisions to the contrary, the
author holds for the purposes of this story that a verbal lease for one
year, to commence in the future, is void.]
CHAPTER SIX
A TALE OF TWO JACOBEAN CHAIRS
NOT A DETECTIVE STORY
"Yes, Mr. Lubliner," said Max Merech as he sat in the front parlour of
Elkan's flat one April Sunday; "if you are going to work to buy
furniture, understand me, it's just so easy to select good-looking
chairs as bad-looking chairs."
"_Aber_ sometimes it's a whole lot harder to sit on 'em comfortably,"
Elkan retorted sourly. On the eve of moving to a larger apartment he and
Yetta had invited Max to suggest a plan for furnishing and decorating
their new dwelling; and it seemed to Elkan that Max had taken undue
advantage of the privilege thus accorded him. Indeed, Polatkin,
Scheikowitz & Company's aesthetic designer held such pronounced views on
interior decoration, and had expressed them so freely to Elkan and
Yetta, that after the first half-hour of his visit the esteem which they
had always felt toward their plush furniture and Wilton rugs had
changed--first to indifference and then, in the case of Yetta, at least,
to loathing.
"I always told you that the couch over there was hideous, Elkan," Yetta
said.
"Hideous it ain't," Max interrupted; "_aber_ it ain't so beautiful."
"Well, stick the couch in the bedroom, then," Elkan said. "It makes no
difference to me."
"Sure, I know," Yetta exclaimed: "but what would we put in its place?"
Elkan shrugged his shoulders.
"What d'ye ask me for?" Elkan cried. "Like as not I'd say another
couch."
"There is couches and couches," Max said with an apologetic smile, "but
if you would ask my advice I would say why not a couple nice chairs
there--something in monhogany, like Shippendaler _oder_ Sheratin."
Suddenly he slapped his thigh in an access of inspiration.
"I came pretty near forgetting!" he cried. "I got the very thing you
want--and a big bargain too! Do you know Louis Dishkes, which runs the
Villy dee Paris Store in Amsterdam Avenue?"
"I think I know him," Elkan said with ironic emphasis. "He owes us four
hundred dollars for two months already."
"Well, Dishkes is got a brother-in-law by the name Ringentaub, on Allen
Street, which he is a dealer in antics."
"Antics?" Elkan exclaimed.
"Sure!" Max explained. "Antics--old furniture and old silver."
"You mean a second-hand store?" Elkan suggested.
"Not a second-hand store," Max declared. "A second-hand store is got old
furniture from two years old _oder_ ten years old, understand me; _aber_
an antic store carries old furniture from a hundred years old already."
"And this here Ringentaub is got furniture from a hundred years old
already?" Elkan cried.
"From older even," answered Max; "from two hundred and fifty years old
also."
"_Ich glaub's!_" Elkan cried.
"You can believe it _oder_ not, Mr. Lubliner," Max continued; "but
Ringentaub got in his store a couple Jacobean chairs, which they are two
hundred and fifty years old already. And them chairs you could buy at a
big sacrifice yet."
Elkan and Yetta exchanged puzzled glances, and Elkan even tapped his
forehead significantly.
"They was part of a whole set," Max went on, not noticing his employer's
gesture; "the others Ringentaub sold to a collector."
Elkan flipped his right hand.
"A collector is something else again," he said; "but me I ain't no
collector, Max, _Gott sei Dank_! I got my own business, Max, and I ain't
got to buy from two hundred and fifty years old furniture."
"Why not?" Max asked. "B. Gans is got his own business, too, Mr. Lubliner,
and a good business also; and he buys yet from Ringentaub--only last
week already--an angry cat cabinet which it is three hundred years old
already."
"An angry cat cabinet?" Elkan exclaimed.
"That's what I said," Max continued; "'angry' is French for 'Henry' and
'cat' is French for 'fourth'; so this here cabinet was made three
hundred years ago when Henry the Fourth was king of France--and B. Gans
buys it last week already for five hundred dollars!"
Therewith Max commenced a half-hour dissertation upon antique furniture
which left Yetta and Elkan more undecided than ever.
"And you are telling me that big people like B. Gans and Andrew Carnegie
buys this here antics for their houses?" Elkan asked.
"J. P. Morgan also," Max replied. "And them Jacobean chairs there you
could get for fifty dollars already."
"Well, it wouldn't do no harm supposing we would go down and see 'em,"
Yetta suggested.
"Some night next week," Elkan added, "_oder_ the week after."
"For that matter, we could go to-night too," Max rejoined. "Sunday is
like any other night down on Allen Street, and you got to remember that
Jacobean chairs is something which you couldn't get whenever you want
'em. Let me tell you just what they look like."
Here he descanted so successfully on the beauty of Jacobean furniture
that Yetta added her persuasion to his, and Elkan at length surrendered.
"All right," he said. "First we would have a little something to eat and
then we would go down there."
Hence, a few minutes after eight that evening they alighted at the
Spring Street subway station; and Max Merech piloted Elkan and Yetta
beneath elevated railroads and past the windows of brass shops, with
their gleaming show of candlesticks and samovars, to a little basement
store near the corner of Rivington Street.
"It don't look like much," Max apologized as he descended the few steps
leading to the entrance; "_aber_ he's got an elegant stock inside."
When he opened the door a trigger affixed to the door knocked against a
rusty bell, but no one responded. Instead, from behind a partition in
the rear came sounds of an angry dispute; and as Elkan closed the door
behind him one of the voices rose higher than the rest.
"Take my life--take my blood, Mr. Sammet!" it said; "because I am making
you the best proposition I can, and that's all there is to it."
Max was about to stamp his foot when Elkan laid a restraining hand on
his shoulder; and, in the pause that followed, the heavy, almost
hysterical breathing of the last speaker could be heard in the front of
the store.
"I don't want your life _oder_ your blood, Dishkes," came the answer in
bass tones, which Elkan recognized as the voice of his competitor, Leon
Sammet. "I am your heaviest creditor, and all I want is that you should
protect me."
"I know you are my heaviest creditor," Louis Dishkes replied. "To my
sorrow I know it! If it wouldn't be for your rotten stickers which I got
in my place, might I would be doing a good business there to-day,
maybe!"
"_Schmooes_, Dishkes!" Sammet replied. "The reason you didn't done a
good business there is that you ain't no business man, Dishkes--and
anyhow, Dishkes, it don't do no good you should insult me!"
"What d'ye mean insult you?" Dishkes cried angrily. "I ain't insulting
you, Sammet. You are insulting me. You want me I should protect you and
let my other creditors go to the devil--ain't it? What d'ye take me
for--a crook?"
"That's all right," Sammet declared. "I wouldn't dandy words with you,
Dishkes. For the last time I am asking you: Will you take advantage of
the offer I am getting for you from the Mercantile Outlet Company, of
Nashville, for your entire stock? Otherwise I would got nothing more to
say to you."
There was a sound of scuffling feet as the party in the rear of the
store rose from their chairs.
"You ain't got no need to say nothing more to me, Mr. Sammet," Dishkes
announced firmly, "because I am through with you, Mr. Sammet. Your
account ain't due till to-morrow, and you couldn't do nothing till
Tuesday. Ain't it? So Tuesday morning early you should go ahead and sue
me, and if I couldn't raise money to save myself I will go _mechullah_;
but it'll be an honest _mechullah_, and that's all there is to it."
As Dishkes finished speaking Elkan drew Max and Yetta into the shadow
cast by a tall highboy; and, without noticing their presence, Leon
Sammet plunged toward the door and let himself out into the street.
Immediately Elkan tiptoed to the door and threw it wide open, after
which he shuffled his feet with sufficient noise to account for the
entrance of three people. Thereat Ringentaub emerged from behind the
partition.
"Hello, Ringentaub," Max cried. "I am bringing you here some customers."
Ringentaub bowed and coughed a warning to Dishkes and Mrs. Ringentaub,
who continued to talk in hoarse whispers behind the partition.
"What's the matter, Ringentaub?" Max Merech asked; "couldn't you afford
it here somehow a little light?"
Ringentaub reached into the upper darkness and turned on a gas jet which
had been burning a blue point of flame.
"I keep it without light here on purpose," he said, "on account Sundays
is a big night for the candlestick fakers up the street and I don't want
to be bothered with their trade. What could I show your friends, Mr.
Merech?"
Max winked almost imperceptibly at Elkan and prepared to approach the
subject of the Jacobean chairs by a judicious detour.
"Do you got maybe a couple Florentine frames, Ringentaub?" he asked; and
Ringentaub shook his head.
"Florentine frames is hard to find nowadays, Mr. Merech," he said; "and
I guess I told it you Friday that I ain't got none."
Elkan shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"I thought might you would of picked up a couple since then, maybe," Max
rejoined, glancing round him. "You got a pretty nice highboy over there,
Ringentaub, for a reproduction."
Ringentaub nodded satirically.
"That only goes to show how much you know about such things, Mr.
Merech," he retorted, "when you are calling reproductions something
which it is a gen-wine Shippendaler, understand me, in elegant
condition."
It was now Elkan's turn to nod, and he did so with just the right
degree of skepticism as at last he broached the object of his visit.
"I suppose," he said, "that them chairs over there is also gen-wine
Jacobean chairs?"
* * * * *
"I'll tell you what I'll do with you, Mr. Merech," Ringentaub declared.
"You could bring down here any of them good Fourth Avenue or Fifth
Avenue dealers, understand me, or any conoozer you want to name, like
Jacob Paul, _oder_ anybody, y'understand; and if they would say them
chairs ain't gen-wine Jacobean I'll make 'em a present to you free for
nothing."
"I ain't _schnorring_ for no presents, Mr. Ringentaub," Max declared.
"Bring 'em out in the light and let's give a look at 'em."