anything, Sternsilver. All I am wanting of 'em is this: Here it is in
black and white. Me and Beckie and that old _Schnorrer_, Mrs. Saphir,
requests the honour of the Intercolonial Company's presents at the
marriage of their daughter. You should know a corporation's presents is
just as good as anybody else's presents, Sternsilver. Ain't it?"
Sternsilver nodded gloomily.
"Also I am sending invitations to a dozen of my best customers and to a
couple of high-price sales-men. Them fellers should loosen up also
oncet in a while. Ain't I right?"
Again Sternsilver nodded and returned to the factory where, at hourly
intervals during the following week, Seiden accosted him and issued
bulletins of the arrival of wedding presents and the acceptance of
invitations to the ceremony.
"What do you think for a couple of small potatoes like Kugel &
Mishkin?" he said. "If I bought a cent from them people during the last
five years I must of bought three hundred dollars' worth of buttons;
and they got the nerve to send a half a dozen coffee spoons, which they
are so light, y'understand, you could pretty near see through 'em."
Sternsilver received this news with a manner suggesting a cramped
swimmer coming up for the second time.
"Never mind, Sternsilver," Seiden continued reassuringly, "we got a
whole lot of people to hear from yet. I bet yer the Binder & Baum
Manufacturing Company, the least you get from 'em is a piece of cut
glass which it costs, at wholesale yet, ten dollars."
Sternsilver's distress proceeded from another cause, however; for that
very morning he had made a desperate resolve, which was no less than to
leave the Borough of Manhattan and to begin life anew in Philadelphia.
From the immediate execution of the plan he was deterred only by one
circumstance--lack of funds; and this he proposed to overcome by
borrowing from Fatkin. Indeed, when he pondered the situation, he
became convinced that Fatkin, as the cause of his dilemma, ought to be
the means of his extrication. He therefore broached the matter of a
loan more in the manner of a lender than a borrower.
"Say, lookyhere, Fatkin," he said on the day before the wedding, "I got
to have some money right away."
Fatkin shrugged philosophically.
"A whole lot of fellers feels the same way," he said.
"Only till Saturday week," Sternsilver continued, "and I want you
should give me twenty-five dollars."
"Me?" Fatkin exclaimed.
"Sure, you," Sternsilver said; "and I want it now."
"Don't make me no jokes, Sternsilver," Fatkin replied.
"I ain't joking, Fatkin; far from it," Sternsilver declared. "To-morrow
it is all fixed for the wedding and I got to have twenty-five dollars."
"What d'ye mean, to-morrow is fixed for the wedding?" Fatkin retorted
indignantly. "Do you want to get married on my money yet?"
"I don't want the money to get married on," Sternsilver protested. "I
want it for something else again."
"My worries! What you want it for?" Fatkin concluded, with a note of
finality in his tone. "I would _oser_ give you twenty-five cents."
"'S enough, Fatkin!" Sternsilver declared. "I heard enough from you
already. You was the one which got me into this _Schlemazel_ and now
you should get me out again."
"What do you mean, getting you into a _Schlemazel_?"
"You know very well what I mean," Philip replied; "and, furthermore,
Fatkin, you are trying to make too free with me. Who are you, anyhow,
you should turn me down when I ask you for a few days twenty-five
dollars? You act so independent, like you would be the foreman."
Hillel nodded slowly, not without dignity.
"Never mind, Sternsilver," he said; "if my family would got a relation,
y'understand, which he is working in Poliakoff's Bank and he is got to
run away on account he is missing in five thousand rubles, which it is
the same name Sternsilver, and everybody in Kovno--the children
even--knows about it, understand me, I wouldn't got to be so stuck up
at all."
Sternsilver flushed indignantly.
"Do you mean to told me," he demanded, "that I got in my family such a
man which he is stealing five thousand rubles, Fatkin?"
"That's what I said," Hillel retorted.
"Well, it only goes to show what a liar you are," Sternsilver rejoined.
"Not only was it he stole ten thousand rubles, y'understand, but the
bank was run by a feller by the name Louis Moser."
"All right," Fatkin said as he started up his sewing-machine by way of
signifying that the interview was at an end. "All right, Sternsilver;
if you got such a relation which he _ganvered_ ten thousand rubles,
y'understand, borrow from him the twenty-five dollars."
Thus Sternsilver was obliged to amend his resolution by substituting
Jersey City for Philadelphia as the seat of his new start in life; and
at half-past eleven that evening, when the good ferryboat _Cincinnati_
drew out of her slip at the foot of Desbrosses Street, a short,
thick-set figure leaned over her bow and gazed sadly, perhaps for the
last time, at the irregular sky-line of Manhattan. It was Sternsilver.
* * * * *
When Mr. Seiden arrived at his factory the following morning he found
his entire force of operators gathered on the stairway and overflowing
on to the sidewalk.
"What is the matter you are striking on me?" he cried.
"Striking!" Hillel Fatkin said. "What do you mean, striking on you, Mr.
Seiden? We ain't striking. Sternsilver ain't come down this morning and
nobody was here he should open up the shop."
"Do you mean to told me Sternsilver ain't here?" Seiden exclaimed.
"All right; then I'm a liar, Mr. Seiden," Hillel replied. "You asked me
a simple question, Mr. Seiden, and I give you a plain, straightforward
answer. My _Grossvater_, _olav hasholam_, which he was a very learned
man--for years a rabbi in Telshi--used to say: 'If some one tells you
you are lying, understand me, and----"
At this juncture Seiden opened the factory door and the entire mob of
workmen plunged forward, sweeping Hillel along, with his quotation from
the ethical maxims of his grandfather only half finished. For the next
quarter of an hour Seiden busied himself in starting up his factory and
then he repaired to the office to open the mail.
In addition to three or four acceptances of invitations there was a
dirty envelope bearing on its upper left-hand corner the mark of a
third-rate Jersey City hotel. Seiden ripped it open and unfolded a
sheet of letter paper badly scrawled in Roman capitals as follows:
"December 12.
"I. SEIDEN:
"We are come to tell you which Mr. Philip Sternsilver is gone out
West to Kenses Citter. So don't fool yourself he would not be at
the wedding. What do you think a fine man like him would marry such
a cow like Miss Bessie Saphir?
"And oblige yours truly,
"A. WELLWISHER."
For at least a quarter of an hour after reading the letter Mr. Seiden
sat in his office doing sums in mental arithmetic. He added postage on
invitations to cost of printing same and carried the result in his
mind; next he visualized in one column the sum paid for furnishing
Bessie's flat, the price of Mrs. Seiden's new dress--estimated;
caterers' fees for serving dinner and hire of New Riga Hall. The total
fairly stunned him, and for another quarter of an hour he remained
seated in his chair. Then came the realization that twenty-five
commission houses, two high-grade drummers, and at least five
customers, rating L to J credit good, were even then preparing to
attend a groomless wedding; and he spurred himself to action.
He ran to the telephone, but as he grabbed the receiver from the hook
he became suddenly motionless.
"_Nu_," he murmured after a few seconds. "Why should I make a damn
fool of myself and disappoint all them people for a greenhorn like
Sternsilver?"
Once more he sought his chair, and incoherent plans for retrieving the
situation chased one another through his brain until he felt that his
intellect was giving way. It was while he was determining to call the
whole thing off that Hillel Fatkin entered.
"Mr. Seiden," he said, "could I speak to you a few words something?"
He wore an air of calm dignity that only a long rabbinical ancestry can
give, and his errand in his employer's office was to announce his
impending resignation, as a consequence of Seiden's offensive
indifference to the memory of Hillel's grandfather. When Seiden looked
up, however, his mind reverted not to Hillel's quotation of his
grandfather's maxims, but to Sternsilver's conversation on the day of
the betrothal; and Hillel's dignity suggested to him, instead of
distinguished ancestry, a savings-bank account of two hundred dollars.
He jumped immediately to his feet.
"Sit down, Fatkin," he cried.
Hillel seated himself much as his grandfather might have done in the
house of an humble disciple, blending dignity and condescension in just
the right proportions.
"So," he said, referring to Mr. Seiden's supposed contrition for the
affront to the late rabbi, "when it is too late, Mr. Seiden, you are
sorry."
"What do you mean, sorry?" Mr. Seiden replied. "Believe me, Fatkin, I
am glad to be rid of the feller. I could get just as good foremen as
him without going outside this factory even--for instance, you."
"Me!" Fatkin cried.
"Sure; why not?" Seiden continued. "A foreman must got to be fresh to
the operators, anyhow; and if you ain't fresh, Fatkin, I don't know who
is."
"Me fresh!" Fatkin exclaimed.
"I ain't kicking you are too fresh, y'understand," Seiden said. "I am
only saying you are fresh enough to be a foreman."
Fatkin shrugged. "Very well, Mr. Seiden," he said in a manner
calculated to impress Seiden with the magnitude of the favour. "Very
well; if you want me to I would go to work as foreman for you."
Seiden with difficulty suppressed a desire to kick Hillel and smiled
blandly.
"_Schon gut_," he said. "You will go to work Monday morning."
"Why not to-day, Mr. Seiden?" Hillel asked.
Seiden smiled again and this time it was not so bland as it was
mechanical, suggesting the pulling of an invisible string.
"Because, Fatkin, you are going to be too busy to-day," Seiden replied.
"A feller couldn't start in to work as a foreman and also get married
all in one day."
Hillel stared at his employer.
"Me get married, Mr. Seiden! What are you talking nonsense, Mr. Seiden?
I ain't going to get married at all."
"Oh, yes, you are, Fatkin," Seiden replied. "You are going to get
married to Miss Bessie Saphir at New Riga Hall, on Allen Street,
to-night, six o'clock sharp; otherwise you wouldn't go to work as
foreman at all."
Hillel rose from his chair and then sat down again.
"Do you mean to told me I must got to marry Miss Bessie Saphir before I
can go to work as foreman?" he demanded.
"You got it right, Fatkin," Seiden said.
"Then I wouldn't do no such thing," Fatkin retorted and made for the
door.
"Hold on!" Seiden shouted, seizing Fatkin by the arm. "Don't be a fool,
Fatkin. What are you throwing away a hundred dollars cash for?"
"Me throw away a hundred dollars cash?" Fatkin blurted out.
"Sure," Seiden answered. "If you would marry Miss Bessie Saphir you
would not only get by me a job as foreman, but also I am willing to
give you a hundred dollars cash."
Fatkin returned to the office and again sat down opposite his employer.
"Say, lookyhere, Mr. Seiden," he said, "I want to tell you something.
You are springing on me suddenly a proposition which it is something
you could really say is remarkable. Ain't it?"
Seiden nodded.
"Miss Bessie Saphir, which she is anyhow--her own best friend would got
to admit it--homely like anything, Mr. Seiden," Fatkin continued, "is
going to marry Sternsilver; and just because Sternsilver runs away, I
should jump in and marry her like I would be nobody!"
Seiden nodded again.
"Another thing, Mr. Seiden," Hillel went on. "What is a hundred dollars?
My _Grossvater_, _olav hasholam_--which he was a very learned man, for
years a rabbi in Telshi----"
"Sure, I know, Fatkin," Seiden interrupted. "You told me that before."
"--for years a rabbi in Telshi," Hillel repeated, not deigning to
notice the interruption save by a malevolent glare, "used to say: 'Soon
married, quick divorced.' Why should I bring _tzuris_ on myself by
doing this thing, Mr. Seiden?"
Seiden treated the question as rhetorical and made no reply.
"Also I got in bank nearly three hundred dollars, Mr. Seiden," he
concluded; "and even if I was a feller which wouldn't be from such fine
family in the old country, understand me, three hundred dollars is
three hundred dollars, Mr. Seiden, and that's all there is to it."
Seiden pondered deeply for a minute.
"All right, Fatkin," he said; "make it a hundred and fifty dollars
_und fertig_."
"Three hundred dollars _oder_ nothing!" Fatkin replied firmly; and
after half an hour of more or less acrid discussion Fatkin agreed to
accept Miss Bessie Saphir plus three hundred dollars and a job as
foreman.
* * * * *
An inexplicable phase of the criminal's character is the instinct which
impels him to revisit the scene of his crime; and, whether he was led
thither by a desire to gloat or by mere vulgar curiosity, Philip
Sternsilver slunk within the shadow of an L-road pillar on Allen Street
opposite New Riga Hall promptly at half-past five that evening.
First to arrive was Isaac Seiden himself. He bore a heavily laden
suitcase, and his face was distorted in an expression of such intense
gloom that Sternsilver almost found it in his heart to be sorry for his
late employer.
Mrs. Seiden, Miss Bessie Saphir, and Mrs. Miriam Saphir next appeared.
They were chattering in an animated fashion and passed into the hall in
a gale of laughter.
"Must be he didn't told 'em yet," Sternsilver muttered to himself.
Then came representatives of commission houses and several L to J
customers attired in appropriate wedding finery; and as they entered
the hall Sternsilver deemed that the pertinent moment for disappearing
had arrived. He left hurriedly before the advent of two high-grade
salesmen, or he might have noticed in their wake the dignified figure
of Hillel Fatkin, arrayed in a fur overcoat, which covered a suit of
evening clothes and was surmounted by a high silk hat. Hillel walked
slowly, as much in the realization that haste was unbecoming to a
bridegroom as on account of his patent-leather shoes, which were half a
size too small for him; for the silk hat, fur overcoat, patent-leather
shoes, and dress suit were all hired, and formed Combination Wedding
Outfit No. 6 in the catalogue of the Imperial Dress-suit Parlour on
Rivington Street. It was listed at five dollars a wedding, but the
proprietress, to whom Hillel had boasted of his rabbinical ancestry,
concluded to allow him a clerical discount of 20 per cent. when he
hesitated between his ultimate selection and the three dollar
Combination No. 4, which did not include the fur overcoat.
The extra dollar was well invested, for the effect of Combination No. 6
upon Miss Bessie Saphir proved to be electrical. At first sight of it,
she dismissed forever the memory of the fickle Sternsilver, who, at the
very moment when Bessie and Hillel were plighting their troth, regaled
himself with _mohnkuchen_ and coffee at a neighbouring cafe.
He sat in an obscure corner behind the lady cashier's desk; and as he
consumed his supper with hearty appetite he could not help overhearing
the conversation she was carrying on with a rotund personage who was
none other than Sam Kupferberg, the well-known Madison Street advocate.
"For a greenhorn like him," said Sam, "he certainly done well. He ain't
been in the place a year, y'understand, and to-night he marries a
relation of his boss and he gets a job as foreman and three hundred
dollars in the bargain."
The cashier clucked with her tongue. "S'imagine!" she commented.
"Mind you," Sam continued, "only this afternoon yet, Seiden tells him
he should marry the girl, as this other feller backed out; and he
stands out for three hundred dollars, y'understand, and a job as
foreman. What could Seiden do? He had to give in, and they're being
married right now in New Riga Hall."
"S'imagine!" the cashier said again, adjusting her pompadour.
"And, furthermore," Sam continued, "the girl is a relation of Seiden's
wife, y'understand."
"My Gawd, ketch him!" the cashier exclaimed; and Sam Kupferberg grabbed
Philip Sternsilver just as he was disappearing into the street. It was
some minutes before Philip could be brought to realize that he owed ten
cents for his supper, but when he was at length released he made up for
lost time. His progress down Allen Street was marked by two overturned
pushcarts and a trail of tumbled children; and, despite this havoc,
when he arrived at New Riga Hall the ceremony was finished by half an
hour or more.
Indeed, the guests were gathered about the supper table and soup had
just been served, when the proprietor of the hall tiptoed to the bridal
table and whispered in Isaac Seiden's ear:
"A feller by the name of Sternsilver wants to speak a few words
something to you," he said.
Seiden turned pale, and leaving half a plateful of soup uninhaled he
rose from the table and followed the proprietor to the latter's private
office. There sat Philip Sternsilver gasping for breath.
"Murderer!" he shouted as Seiden entered. "You are shedding my blood."
"_Koosh_, Sternsilver!" Seiden hissed. "Ain't you got no shame for the
people at all?"
"Where is my Bessie--my life?" Sternsilver wailed. "Without you are
making any inquiries at all you are marrying her to a loafer. Me, I am
nothing! What is it to you I am pretty near killed in the street last
night and must got to go to a hospital! For years I am working for you
already, day in, day out, without I am missing a single forenoon
even--and you are treating me like this!"
It was now Seiden's turn to gasp.
"What d'ye mean?" he cried, searching in his coat pocket. "Ain't you
wrote me this here letter?"
He produced the missive received by him that morning and handed it to
Sternsilver, who, unnoticed by the excited Seiden, returned it without
even glancing at its contents.
"I never seen it before," he declared. "Why should I write printing?
Don't you suppose I can write writing, Mr. Seiden?"
"Who did send it, then?" Seiden asked.
"It looks to me"--said Sternsilver, who grew calmer as Seiden became
more agitated--"it looks to me like that sucker Fatkin writes it."
"What!" Seiden yelled. "And me I am paying him cash three hundred
dollars he should marry that girl! Even a certified check he wouldn't
accept."
Although this information was not new to Sternsilver, to hear it thus
at first hand seemed to infuriate him.
"What!" he howled. "You are giving that greenhorn three hundred dollars
yet to marry such a beautiful girl like my Bessie!"
He buried his face in his hands and rocked to and fro in his chair.
"Never mind, Sternsilver," Seiden said comfortingly; "you shouldn't
take on so--she ain't so beautiful; and, as for that feller Fatkin----"
"You are talking about me, Mr. Seiden?" said a voice in the doorway.
Sternsilver looked up and once again Wedding Outfit Combination No. 6
conquered; for assuredly, had Fatkin been arrayed in his working
clothes, he would have suffered a personal assault at the hands of his
late foreman.
"Mr. Seiden," Fatkin continued, "never mind; I could stand it somebody
calls me names, but Mr. Latz wants to know what is become of you for
the last quarter of an hour. Mr. Latz tells me during November alone he
buys from us eight hundred dollars goods."
"Us!" Seiden cried, employing three inflections to the monosyllable.
Before Seiden could protest further, however, Sternsilver had recovered
from the partial hypnosis of Combination No. 6, and he gave tongue like
a foxhound:
"_Oe-ee tzuris!_" he wailed.
"_Koosh!_" Fatkin cried, closing the door. "What do you want here?"
"You know what I want," Sternsilver sobbed. "You are stealing from me
three hundred dollars."
Fatkin turned to Seiden and gazed at him reproachfully.
"Mr. Seiden," he said, "what for you are telling me that Sternsilver
wouldn't get a cent with Bessie? And you are trying to get me I should
be satisfied with a hundred dollars yet. Honestly, Mr. Seiden, I am
surprised at you."
"_Schmooes_, Fatkin!" Seiden protested. "I never promised to give him
nothing. Dreams he got it."
Sternsilver rose from his seat.
"Do you mean to told me that a greenhorn like him you would give three
hundred dollars," he asked, "and me you wouldn't give nothing?"
"You!" Fatkin bellowed. "What are you? You are coming to me throwing a
bluff that you got a relation by the name of Sternsilver, which he
_ganvers_ ten thousand rubles from Moser's Bank, in Kovno; and this
afternoon yet, I find out the feller's name was Steinsilver--not
Sternsilver; which he ain't got a relation in the world, y'understand.
Faker!"
Sternsilver nodded his head slowly.
"Faker, am I?" he said. "All right, Mr. Fatkin; if I am a faker I will
show you what I would do. You and this here Seiden fix it up between
you, because I am all of a sudden sick in the hospital, that you steal
away my Bessie and the three hundred dollars also. _Schon gut!_ I would
sue you both in the courts _und fertig_!"
"Sternsilver is right, in a way," Seiden said, "even though he is a
bum. What for did you write me this letter, Fatkin?"
"Me write you that letter, Mr. Seiden!" Fatkin protested as he looked
at the document in question. "Why, Mr. Seiden, I can't write printing.
It is all I can do to write writing. And, besides, Mr. Seiden, until
you are telling me about getting married, the idee never enters my head
at all."
There could be no mistaking Fatkin's sincerity, and Seiden turned to
Sternsilver with a threatening gesture.
"Out!" he cried. "Out of here before I am sending for a policeman to
give you arrested."
"Don't make me no bluffs, Seiden!" Sternsilver answered calmly. "Either
you would got to settle with me now _oder_ I would go right upstairs
and tell them commission houses and customers which you got there all
about it. What do you take me for, Seiden--a greenhorn?"
"Fatkin," Seiden commanded, "do you hear what I am telling you? Take
this loafer and throw him into the street."
"Me?" Fatkin said. "What are you talking nonsense, Mr. Seiden? I should
throw him into the street when I am standing to lose on the coat alone
ten dollars!"
Seiden looked at Fatkin and the validity of his objection was at once
apparent.
"_Nu_, Sternsilver," he said. "Be a good feller. Here is five dollars.
Go away and leave us alone."
Sternsilver laughed aloud.
"You are talking like I would be a child, Seiden!" he said. "Either you
would give me cash a hundred dollars _oder_ I would go right away
upstairs to the customers."
Seiden turned to Fatkin.
"Fatkin," he said, "I am giving you this evening three hundred dollars.
Give him a hundred dollars and be done with it."
"What d'ye mean, me give him a hundred dollars, Mr. Seiden?" Fatkin
demanded. "They ain't my customers."
At this juncture the proprietor of the hall opened the door.
"Mr. Seiden," he said, "everybody is through eating; so, if you would
give me the key to the suitcase which you got the cigars and _Schnapps_
in, Mr. Seiden, I would hand 'em around."
"I'll be there in a minute," Seiden replied. He turned to Sternsilver
and made one last appeal. "_Nu_, Sternsilver," he said, "would you
take a check?"
"_Oser_ a _Stueck_," Sternsilver declared; but, although for five
minutes he maintained his refusal, he finally relented.
"Well, Mr. Seiden," he said, offering his hand, "I congradulate you."
Seiden refused the proffered palm and started for the door. Before he
reached it, however, Fatkin grabbed him by the arm.
"At such a time like this, Mr. Seiden," he said, "you couldn't afford
to be small."
Once more Sternsilver held out his hand and this time Seiden shook it
limply.
"No bad feelings, Mr. Seiden," Sternsilver said, and Seiden shrugged
impatiently.
"You, I don't blame at all, Sternsilver," he said. "I am making from my
own self a sucker yet. A feller shouldn't never even begin with his
wife's relations."
* * * * *
At the end of a year Hillel Fatkin left the employ of the Sanspareil
Waist Company to embark in the garment business on his own account.
Many reasons contributed to this move, chief of which was the arrival
of a son in Fatkin's household.
"And we would call him Pesach," Hillel said to his mother-in-law
shortly after the birth of his heir, "after your Uncle Pesach Gubin."