"Say, lookyhere!" said Isaac Seiden, proprietor of the Sanspareil Waist
Company, as he stood in the office of his factory on Greene Street;
"what is the use your telling me it is when it ain't? My wife's mother
never got a brother by the name Pesach."
He was addressing Mrs. Miriam Saphir, who sat on the edge of the chair
nursing her cheek with her left hand. Simultaneously she rocked to and
fro and beat her forehead with her clenched fist, while at intervals
she made inarticulate sounds through her nose significant of intense
suffering.
"I should drop dead in this chair if she didn't," she contended. "Why
should I lie to you, Mr. Seiden? My own daughter, which I called her
Bessie for this here Pesach Gubin, should never got a husband and my
other children also, which one of 'em goes around on crutches right
now, Mr. Seiden, on account she gets knocked down by a truck."
"Well, why didn't she sue him in the courts yet?" Seiden asked. "From
being knocked down by a truck many a rich feller got his first start in
business already."
"Her luck, Mr. Seiden!" Mrs. Saphir cried. "A greenhorn owns the truck
which it even got a chattel mortgage on it. Such _Schlemazel_ my family
got it, Mr. Seiden! If it would be your Beckie, understand me, the
least that happens is that a millionaire owns the truck and he settles
out of court for ten thousand dollars yet. Some people, if they would
be shot with a gun, the bullet is from gold and hits 'em in the pocket
already--such luck they got it."
"That ain't here nor there, Mrs. Saphir," Seiden declared. "Why should
I got to give your Bessie a job, when already I got so many people
hanging around my shop, half the time they are spending treading on
their toes?"
"_Ai, tzuris!_" Mrs. Saphir wailed. "My own husband's Uncle Pesach is
from his wife a cousin and he asks me why! Who should people look to
for help if it wouldn't be their family, Mr. Seiden? Should I go and
beg from strangers?"
Here Mrs. Saphir succumbed to a wave of self-pity, and she wept aloud.
"_Koosh!_" Mr. Seiden bellowed. "What do you think I am running here--a
cemetery? If you want to cry you should go out on the sidewalk."
"Such hearts people got it," Mrs. Seiden sobbed, "like a piece from
ice."
"'S enough!" said Mr. Seiden. "I wasted enough time already. You took
up pretty near my whole morning, Mrs. Saphir; so once and for all I am
telling you you should send your Bessie to work as a learner Monday
morning, and if she gets worth it I would pay her just the same wages
like anybody else."
Mrs. Saphir dried her eyes with the back of her hand, while Mr. Seiden
walked into his workroom and slammed the door behind him as evidence
that the interview was at an end. When he returned a few minutes later
Mrs. Saphir was still there waiting for him.
"Well," he demanded, "what d'ye want of me now?"
For answer Mrs. Saphir beat her forehead and commenced to rock anew.
"My last ten cents I am spending it for carfare," she cried.
"What is that got to do with me?" Seiden asked. "People comes into my
office and takes up my whole morning disturbing my business, and I
should pay 'em carfare yet? An idee!"
"Only one way I am asking," Mrs. Saphir said.
"I wouldn't even give you a transfer ticket," Mr. Seiden declared, and
once more he banged the door behind him with force sufficient to shiver
its ground-glass panel.
Mrs. Saphir waited for an interval of ten minutes and then she gathered
her shawl about her; and with a final adjustment of her crape bonnet
she shuffled out of the office.
Miss Bessie Saphir was a chronic "learner"--that is to say, she had
never survived the period of instruction in any of the numerous shirt,
cloak, dress, and clothing factories in which she had sought
employment; and at the end of her second month in the workshop of the
Sanspareil Waist Company she appeared to know even less about the
manufacture of waists than she did at the beginning of her first week.
"How could any one be so _dumm_!" Philip Sternsilver cried as he held
up a damaged garment for his employer's inspection, "I couldn't
understand at all. That's the tenth waist Bessie Saphir ruins on us."
"_Dumm!_" Mr. Seiden exclaimed. "What d'ye mean, dumb? You are getting
altogether too independent around here, Sternsilver."
"Me--independent!" Philip rejoined. "For what reason I am independent,
Mr. Seiden? I don't understand what you are talking about at all."
"No?" Seiden said. "Might you don't know you are calling my wife's
relation dumb, Sternsilver? From a big mouth a feller like you could
get himself into a whole lot of trouble."
"Me calling your wife's relation dumb, Mr. Seiden?" Sternsilver cried
in horrified accents. "I ain't never said nothing of the sort. What I
am saying is that that _dummer_ cow over there--that Bessie Saphir--is
_dumm_. I ain't said a word about your wife's relations."
"Loafer!" Seiden shouted in a frenzy. "What d'ye mean?"
Sternsilver commenced to perspire.
"What do I mean?" he murmured. "Why, I am just telling you what I
mean."
"If it wouldn't be our busy season," Seiden continued, "I would fire
you right out of here _und fertig_. Did you ever hear the like? Calls
my wife's cousin, Miss Bessie Saphir, a _dummer Ochs_!"
"How should I know she's your wife's cousin, Mr. Seiden?" Sternsilver
protested. "Did she got a label on her?"
"Gets fresh yet!" Seiden exclaimed. "Never mind, Sternsilver. If the
learners is _dumm_ it's the foreman's fault; and if you couldn't learn
the learners properly I would got to get another foreman which he could
learn, and that's all there is to it."
He stalked majestically away while Sternsilver turned and gazed at the
unconscious subject of their conversation. As he watched her bending
over her sewing-machine a sense of injustice rankled in his breast, for
there could be no doubt the epithet _dummer Ochs_, as applied to Miss
Saphir, was not only justified but eminently appropriate.
Her wide cheekbones, flat nose, and expressionless eyes suggested at
once the calm, ruminating cow; and there was not even lacking a piece
of chewing-gum between her slowly moving jaws to complete the portrait.
"A girl like her should got rich relations yet," he murmured to
himself. "A _Schnorrer_ wouldn't marry her, not if her uncles was
Rothschilds _oder_ Carnegies. You wouldn't find the mate to her outside
a dairy farm."
As he turned away, however, the sight of Hillel Fatkin wielding a pair
of shears gave him the lie; for, if Miss Bessie Saphir's cheekbones
were broad, Hillel's were broader. In short, Hillel's features compared
to Bessie's as the head of a Texas steer to that of a Jersey heifer.
Sternsilver noticed the resemblance with a smile just as Mr. Seiden
returned to the workroom.
"Sternsilver," he said, "ain't you got nothing better to do that you
should be standing around grinning like a fool? Seemingly you think a
foreman don't got to work at all."
"I was laying out some work for the operators over there, Mr. Seiden,"
Philip replied. "Oncet in a while a feller must got to think, Mr.
Seiden."
"What d'ye mean, think?" Seiden exclaimed. "Who asks you you should
think, Sternsilver? You get all of a sudden such _grossartig_ notions.
'Must got to think,' _sagt er_! I am the only one which does the
thinking here, Sternsilver. Now you go right ahead and tend to them
basters."
Sternsilver retired at once to the far end of the workroom, where he
proceeded to relieve his outraged feeling by criticising Hillel
Fatkin's work in excellent imitation of his employer's bullying manner.
"What is the matter, Mr. Sternsilver, you are all the time picking on
me so?" Hillel demanded. "I am doing my best here and certainly if you
don't like my work I could quick go somewheres else. I ain't a
_Schnorrer_ exactly, Mr. Sternsilver. I got in savings bank already a
couple hundred dollars which I could easy start a shop of my own; so I
ain't asking no favours from nobody."
"You shouldn't worry yourself, Fatkin," Sternsilver said. "Nobody is
going to do you no favours around here. On the contrary, Fatkin, the
way you are ruining garments around here, sooner as do you favours we
would sue you in the courts yet, and you could kiss yourself good-bye
with your two hundred dollars in savings bank. Furthermore, for an
operator you are altogether too independent, Fatkin."
"Maybe I am and maybe I ain't," Fatkin retorted with simple dignity.
"My father was anyhow from decent, respectable people in Grodno,
Sternsilver; and even if I wouldn't got a sister which she is married
to Sam Kupferberg's cousin, y'understand, Sam would quick fix me up by
the Madison Street court. You shouldn't throw me no bluffs,
Sternsilver. Go ahead and sue."
He waited for his foreman to utter a suitable rejoinder, but none came,
for in Fatkin's disclosure of a two-hundred dollar deposit in the
savings bank and his sister's relationship to Sam Kupferberg, the
well-known legal practitioner of Madison Street, Philip Sternsilver
conceived a brilliant idea.
"I ain't saying we would sue you exactly, understand me," he replied.
"All I am saying, Hillel, is you should try and be a little more
careful with your work, y'understand."
Here Sternsilver looked over from Hillel's bovine features to the dull
countenance of Miss Bessie Saphir.
"A feller which he has got money in the bank and comes from decent,
respectable people like you, Hillel," he concluded, "if they work hard
there is nothing which they couldn't do, y'understand. All they got to
look out for is they shouldn't Jonah themselves with their bosses,
y'understand."
"Bosses!" Hillel repeated. "What d'ye mean, bosses? Might you got an
idee you are my boss maybe, Sternsilver?"
"Me, I ain't saying nothing about it at all," Sternsilver declared. "I
am only saying something which it is for your own good; and if you
don't believe me, Hillel, come out with me lunch time and have a cup
coffee. I got a few words, something important, to tell you."
For the remainder of the forenoon Sternsilver busied himself about the
instruction of Miss Bessie Saphir. Indeed, so assiduously did he apply
himself to his task that at half-past eleven Mr. Seiden was moved to
indignant comment. He beckoned Sternsilver to accompany him to the
office and when he reached the door he broke into an angry tirade:
"_Nu_, Sternsilver," he began, "ain't you got to do nothing else but
learn that girl the whole morning? What do I pay a foreman wages he
should fool away his time like that?"
"What d'ye mean, fool away my time, Mr. Seiden?" Sternsilver protested.
"Ain't you told me I should learn her something, on account she is a
relation from your wife already?"
"Sure, I told you you should learn her something," Seiden admitted;
"but I ain't told you you should learn her everything in one morning
already. She ain't such a close relation as all that, y'understand. The
trouble with you is, Sternsilver, you don't use your head at all. A
foreman must got to think oncet in a while, Sternsilver. Don't leave
all the thinking to the boss, Sternsilver. I got other things to bother
my head over, Sternsilver, without I should go crazy laying out the
work in the shop for the foreman."
Thus admonished, Sternsilver returned to the workroom more strongly
convinced than ever that, unless he could carry out the idea suggested
by his conversation with Fatkin, there would be a summary ending to his
job as foreman. As soon, therefore, as the lunch-hour arrived he
hustled Fatkin to a Bath-brick dairy restaurant and then and there
unfolded his scheme.
"Say, listen here, Fatkin," he commenced. "Why don't a young feller
like you get married?"
Fatkin remained silent. He was soaking zwieback in coffee and applying
it to his face in such a manner that the greater part of it filled his
mouth and rendered conversation impossible.
"There's many a nice girl, which she could cook herself and wash
herself A Number One, y'understand, would be only too glad to get a
decent, respectable feller like you," Sternsilver went on.
Hillel Fatkin acknowledged the compliment by a tremendous fit of
coughing, for in his embarrassment he had managed to inhale a crum of
the zwieback. His effort to remove it nearly strangled him, but at
length the dislodged particle found a target in the right eye of an
errand boy sitting opposite. For some moments Sternsilver was unable to
proceed, by reason of the errand boy's tribute to Hillel's table
manners. Indeed, so masterly was this example of profane invective that
the manager of the lunchroom, without inquiring into the merits of the
controversy, personally led Hillel's victim to the door and kicked him
firmly into the gutter. After this, Philip Sternsilver proceeded with
the unfolding of his plan.
"Yes, Hillel," he said, "I mean it. For a young feller like you even a
girl which she got rich relations like Seiden ain't too good."
"Seiden?" Hillel interrupted, with a supercilious shrug. "What is
Seiden? I know his people from old times in Grodno yet. So poor they
were, y'understand, his _Grossmutter_ would be glad supposing my
_Grossmutter_, _olav hasholam_, would send her round a couple pieces
clothing to wash. The whole family was beggars--one worser as the
other."
"Sure, I know," Philip said; "but look where he is to-day, Hillel. You
got to give him credit, Hillel. He certainly worked himself up
wonderful, and why? Because the feller saves his money, understand me,
and then he turns around and goes to work to pick out a wife, and
married right."
"What are you talking nonsense--got married right?" Hillel said. "Do
you mean to told me that Seiden is getting married right? An idee! What
for a family was all them Gubins, Sternsilver? The one Uncle Pesach was
a low-life bum--a _Shikerrer_ which he wouldn't stop at nothing, from
_Schnapps_ to varnish. Furthermore, his father, y'understand, got into
trouble once on account he _ganvers_ a couple chickens; and if it
wouldn't be for my _Grossvater_, which he was for years a _Rav_ in
Telshi--a very learned man, Sternsilver--no one knows what would have
become of them people at all."
For the remainder of the lunch-hour Hillel so volubly demonstrated
himself to be the Debrett, Burke, and Almanach de Gotha of Grodno,
Telshi, and vicinity that Sternsilver was obliged to return to the
factory with his scheme barely outlined.
Nevertheless, on his journey back to Greene Street he managed to
interrupt Hillel long enough to ask him if he was willing to get
married.
"I don't say I wouldn't," Hillel replied, "supposing I would get a nice
girl. _Aber_ one thing I wouldn't do, Sternsilver. I wouldn't take no
one which she ain't coming from decent, respectable people, y'understand;
and certainly, if a feller got a couple hundred dollars in savings bank,
Sternsilver, he's got a right to expect a little consideration. Ain't
it?"
This ultimatum brought them to the door of the factory, and when they
entered further conversation was summarily prevented by Mr. Seiden
himself.
"Sternsilver," Mr. Seiden bellowed at him, "where was you?"
"Couldn't I get oncet in a while a few minutes I should eat my lunch,
Mr. Seiden?" Sternsilver replied. "I am entitled to eat, ain't I, Mr.
Seiden?"
"'Entitled to eat,' _sagt er_, when the operators is carrying on so
they pretty near tear the place to pieces already!" Seiden exclaimed.
"A foreman must got to be in the workroom, lunch-hour _oder_ no
lunch-hour, Sternsilver. Me, I do everything here. I get no assistance
at all."
He walked off toward the office; and after Sternsilver had started up
the motor, which supplied power for the sewing-machines, he followed
his employer.
"Mr. Seiden," he began, "I don't know what comes over you lately.
Seemingly nothing suits you at all--and me I am all the time doing my
very best to help you out."
"Is that so?" Seiden replied ironically. "Since when is the foreman
helping out the boss if he would go and spend a couple hours for his
lunch, making a hog out of himself, Sternsilver?"
"I ain't making a hog out of myself, Mr. Seiden," Philip continued. "If
I am going out of the factory for my lunch, Mr. Seiden, I got my
reasons for it."
Seiden glared at his foreman for some minutes; ordinarily Sternsilver's
manner was diffident to the point of timidity, and this newborn courage
temporarily silenced Mr. Seiden.
"The way you are talking, Sternsilver," he said at last, "to hear you
go on any one would think you are the boss and I am the foreman."
"In business, yes," Philip rejoined, "you are the boss, Mr. Seiden; but
outside of business a man could be a _Mensch_ as well as a foreman.
Ain't it?"
Seiden stared at the unruffled Sternsilver, who allowed no opportunity
for a retort by immediately going on with his dissertation.
"Even operators also," he said. "Hillel Fatkin is an operator,
y'understand, but he has got anyhow a couple hundred dollars in the
savings bank; and when it comes to family, Mr. Seiden, he's from
decent, respectable people in the old country. His own grandfather was
a rabbi, y'understand."
"What the devil's that got to do with me, Sternsilver?" Seiden asked.
"I don't know what you are talking about at all."
Sternsilver disregarded the interruption.
"Operator _oder_ foreman, Mr. Seiden, what is the difference when it
comes to a poor girl like Miss Bessie Saphir, which, even supposing she
is a relation from your wife, she ain't so young no longer? Furthermore,
with some faces which a girl got it she could have a heart from gold,
y'understand, and what is it? Am I right or wrong, Mr. Seiden?"
Mr. Seiden made no reply. He was blinking at vacancy while his mind
reverted to an afternoon call paid uptown by Mrs. Miriam Saphir. As a
corollary, Mrs. Seiden had kept him awake half the night, and the
burden of her jeremiad was: "What did you ever done for my relations?
Tell me that."
"Say, lookyhere, Sternsilver," he said at length, "what are you trying
to drive into?"
"I am driving into this, Mr. Seiden," Philip replied: "Miss Bessie
Saphir must got to get married some time. Ain't it?"
Seiden nodded.
"_Schon gut!_" Sternsilver continued. "There's no time like the
present."
A forced smile started to appear on Seiden's face, when the door
leading to the public hall opened and a bonneted and shawled figure
appeared. It was none other than Mrs. Miriam Saphir.
"_Ai, tzuris!_" she cried; and sinking into the nearest chair she began
forthwith to rock to and fro and to beat her forehead with her clenched
fist.
"_Nu!_" Seiden exploded. "What's the trouble now?"
Mrs. Saphir ceased rocking. On leaving home she had provided herself
with a pathetic story which would not only excuse her presence in
Seiden's factory but was also calculated to wring at least seventy-five
cents from Seiden himself. Unfortunately she had forgotten to go over
the minor details of the narrative on her way downtown, and now even
the main points escaped her by reason of a heated altercation with the
conductor of a Third Avenue car. The matter in dispute was her tender,
in lieu of fare, of a Brooklyn transfer ticket which she had found
between the pages of a week-old newspaper. For the first ten blocks of
her ride she had feigned ignorance of the English language, and five
blocks more were consumed in the interpretation, by a well-meaning
passenger, of the conductor's urgent demands. Another five blocks
passed in Mrs. Saphir's protestations that she had received the
transfer in question from the conductor of a Twenty-third Street car;
failing the accuracy of which statement, she expressed the hope that
her children should all drop dead and that she herself might never stir
from her seat. This brought the car to Bleecker Street, where the
conductor rang the bell and invited Mrs. Saphir to alight. Her first
impulse was to defy him to the point of a constructive assault, with
its attendant lawsuit against the railroad company; but she discovered
that, in carrying out her project to its successful issue, she had
already gone one block past her destination. Hence she walked leisurely
down the aisle; and after pausing on the platform to adjust her shawl
and bonnet she descended to the street with a parting scowl at the
conductor, who immediately broke the bell-rope in starting the car.
"_Nu!_" Seiden repeated. "Couldn't you open your mouth at all? What's
the matter?"
Mrs. Saphir commenced to rock tentatively, but Seiden stopped her with
a loud "_Koosh!_"
"What do you want from me?" he demanded.
"_Meine Tochter_ Bessie," she replied, "she don't get on at all."
"What d'ye mean, she don't get on at all?" Seiden interrupted. "Ain't I
doing all I could for her? I am learning her the business; and what is
more, Mrs. Saphir, I got a feller which he wants to marry her, too.
Ain't that right, Sternsilver?"
Philip nodded vigorously and Mrs. Saphir sat up in her chair.
"Him?" she asked.
"Sure; why not?" Seiden answered.
"But, Mr. Seiden----" Sternsilver cried.
"_Koosh_, Sternsilver," Seiden said. "Don't you mind that woman at all.
If Bessie was my own daughter even, I would give my consent."
"_Aber_, Mr. Seiden----" Sternsilver cried again in anguished tones,
but further protest was choked off by Mrs. Saphir, who rose from her
seat with surprising alacrity and seized Philip around the neck. For
several minutes she kissed him with loud smacking noises, and by the
time he had disengaged himself Seiden had brought in Miss Bessie
Saphir. As she blushingly laid her hand in Sternsilver's unresisting
clasp Seiden patted them both on the shoulder.
"For a business man, Sternsilver," he said, "long engagements is nix;
and to show you that I got a heart, Sternsilver, I myself would pay for
the wedding, which would be in two weeks at the latest."
He turned to Mrs. Miriam Saphir.
"I congradulate you," he said. "And now get out of here!"
* * * * *
For the next ten days Mr. and Mrs. Seiden and Miss Saphir were so busy
with preparations for the wedding that they had no leisure to observe
Sternsilver's behaviour. He proved to be no ardent swain; and, although
Bessie was withdrawn from the factory on the day following her
betrothal, Sternsilver called at her residence only twice during the
first week of their engagement.
"I didn't think the feller got so much sense," Seiden commented when
Bessie Saphir complained of Philip's coldness.
"He sees you got your hands full getting ready, so he don't bother you
at all."
As for Seiden, he determined to spare no expense, up to two hundred and
fifty dollars, in making the wedding festivites greatly redound to his
credit both socially and in a business way.
To that end he had dispatched over a hundred invitations to the
wholesale houses from which he purchased goods.
"You see what I am doing for you," he said to Sternsilver one morning,
a week before the wedding day. "Not only in postage stamps I am
spending my money but the printing also costs me a whole lot, too, I
bet yer."
"What is the use spending money for printing when you got a typewriter
which she is setting half the time doing nothing, Mr. Seiden?" Philip
protested.
"That's what I told Mrs. Seiden," his employer replied, "and she goes
pretty near crazy. She even wanted me I should got 'em engraved, so
_grossartig_ she becomes all of a sudden. Printing is good enough,
Sternsilver. Just lookyhere at this now, how elegant it is."
He handed Philip an invitation which read as follows:
MR. AND MRS. I. SEIDEN AND MRS. MIRIAM SAPHIR
REQUEST THE HONOUR OF
THE INTERCOLONIAL TEXTILE COMPANY'S
PRESENCE AT THE MARRIAGE OF HER DAUGHTER
BESSIE
TO
MR. PHILIP STERNSILVER
ON THURSDAY, DECEMBER 16, 1909, AT SIX O'CLOCK
NEW RIGA HALL, 522 ALLEN STREET, NEW YORK
_Bride's Address:_
c/o SANSPAREIL WAIST COMPANY
ISAAC SEIDEN, _Proprietor_ Waists in Marquisette, Voile,
Lingerie, Crepe and Novelty Silks also a Full Line of Lace
and Hand-embroidered Waists
800 GREENE STREET, NEW YORK CITY
"What's the use you are inviting a corporation to a wedding, Mr.
Seiden?" Philip said as he returned the invitation with a heavy sigh.
"A corporation couldn't eat nothing, Mr. Seiden."