talking nonsense, Hillel? That lowlife is Mrs. Seiden's uncle, not my
uncle."
"Your cousin, then," Hillel continued. "What's the difference if he's
your cousin _oder_ your uncle--we would call the boy after him, anyhow."
"Call the boy after that drinker--that bum! What for? The feller ain't
no relation to me at all. Why should we call the precious lamb after
Beckie Seiden's relations?"
"Do you mean to told me," he said, "that Pesach Gubin ain't no relation
to Bessie at all?"
Mrs. Saphir nodded and blushed.
"The way families is mixed up nowadays, Hillel," she said, "it don't do
no harm to claim relation with some people."
Her face commenced to resume its normal colour.
"Especially," she added, "if they got money."
CHAPTER FOUR
SERPENTS' TEETH
"All right, Max," cried Samuel Gembitz, senior member of S. Gembitz &
Sons; "if you think you know more about it as I do, Max, go ahead and
make up that style in all them fancy shades. But listen to what I'm
telling you, Max: black, navy blue, brown, and smoke is plenty enough;
and all them copenhoogens, wisterias, and tchampanyers we would get
stuck with, just as sure as little apples."
"That's what you think, pop," Max Gembitz replied.
"Well, I got a right to think, ain't I?" Samuel Gembitz retorted.
"Sure," Max said, "and so have I."
"After me," Samuel corrected. "I think first and then you think, Max;
and I think we wouldn't plunge so heavy on them 1040's. Make up a few
of 'em in blacks, navies, browns, and smokes, Max, and afterward we
would see about making up the others."
He rose from his old-fashioned Windsor chair in the firm's private
office and put on his hat--a silk hat of a style long obsolete.
"I am going to my lunch, Max," he said firmly, "and when I come back I
will be here. Another thing, Max: you got an idee them 1040's is a
brand-new style which is so original, understand me, we are bound to
make a big hit with it at seven-fifty apiece--ain't it?"
Max nodded.
"Well, good styles travels fast, Max," the old man said; "and you could
take it from me, Max, in two weeks' time Henry Schrimm and all them
other fellers would be falling over themselves to sell the self-same
garment at seven dollars."
He seized a gold-mounted, ebony cane, the gift of Harmony Lodge, 100,
I.O.M.A., and started for the stairway, but as he reached the door he
turned suddenly.
"Max," he shouted, "tell them boys to straighten up the sample racks.
The place looks like a pigsty already."
As the door closed behind his father Max aimed a kick at the
old-fashioned walnut desk and the old-fashioned Windsor chair; and
then, lighting a cigarette, he walked hurriedly to the cutting room.
"Lester," he said to his younger brother, who was poring over a book of
sample swatches, "what do you think now?"
"Huh?" Lester grunted.
"The old man says we shouldn't make up them 1040's in nothing but
black, navy, brown, and smoke!"
Lester closed the book of sample swatches and sat down suddenly.
"Wouldn't that make you sick?" he said in tones of profound disgust. "I
tell you what it is, Max, if it wouldn't be that the old man can't run
the business forever, I'd quit right now. We've got a killing in sight
and he Jonahs the whole thing."
"I told you what it would be," Max said. "I seen Falkstatter in
Sarahcuse last week; and so sure as I'm standing here, Lester, I could
sold that feller a two-thousand dollar order if it wouldn't be for the
old man's back-number ideas. Didn't have a single pastel shade in my
trunks!"
"Where is he now?" Lester asked.
"Gone to lunch," Max replied.
Lester took up the sample swatches again and his eyes rested lovingly
on a delicate shade of pink.
"I hope he chokes," he said; but even though at that very moment Samuel
Gembitz sat in Hammersmith's restaurant, his cheeks distended to the
bursting point with _gefuellte Rinderbrust_, Lester's prayer went
unanswered. Indeed, Samuel Gembitz had the bolting capacity of a
boa-constrictor, and, with the aid of a gulp of coffee, he could have
swallowed a grapefruit whole.
"Ain't you scared that you would sometimes hurt your di-gestion, Mr.
Gembitz?" asked Henry Schrimm, who sat at the next table.
Now this was a sore point with Sam Gembitz, for during the past year he
had succumbed to more than a dozen bilious attacks as a result of his
voracious appetite; and three of them were directly traceable to
_gefuellte Rinderbrust_.
"I ain't so delicate like some people, Henry," he said rather sharply.
"I don't got to consider every bit of meat which I am putting in my
mouth. And even if I would, Henry, what is doctors for? If a feller
would got to deny himself plain food, Henry, he might as well jump off
a dock and _fertig_."
Henry Schrimm was an active member of as many fraternal orders as there
are evenings in the week, and he possessed a ready sympathy that made
him invaluable as a chairman of a sick-visiting or funeral committee;
for at seven P.M. Henry could bring himself to the verge of tears over
the bedside of a lodge brother, without unduly affecting his ability to
relish a game of auction pinochle at half-past eight, sharp.
"Jumping off a dock is all right, too, Mr. Gembitz," he commented, "but
you got your family to consider."
"You shouldn't worry about my family, Henry," Gembitz retorted. "I am
carrying good insurance; and, furthermore, I got my business in such
shape that it would go on just the same supposing I should die
to-morrow."
"_Gott soll hueten_, Mr. Gembitz," Henry added piously as the old man
disposed of a dishful of gravy through the capillary attraction of a
hunk of spongy rye bread.
"Yes, Henry," Gembitz continued, after he had licked his fingers and
submitted his bicuspids to a process of vacuum cleaning, "I got my
business down to such a fine point which you could really say was
systematic."
"That's a good thing, Mr. Gembitz," Henry said, "because, presuming for
the sake of argument, I am only saying you would be called away, Mr.
Gembitz, them boys of yours would run it into the ground in no time."
"What d'ye mean, run it into the ground?" Gembitz demanded indignantly.
"If you would got the gumption which my boys got it, Schrimm, you
wouldn't be doing a business which the most you are making is a couple
thousand a year."
"Sure, I know," Henry replied. "If I would got Lester's gumption I
would be sitting around the Harlem Winter Garden till all hours of the
morning; and if I would got Sidney's gumption I would be playing Kelly
pool from two to four every afternoon. And as for Max, Mr. Gembitz, if
I would got his gumption I would make a present of it to my worst
enemy. A boy which he is going on forty and couldn't do nothing without
asking his popper's permission first, Mr. Gembitz, he could better do
general house-work for a living as sell goods."
Gembitz rose from his table and struggled into his overcoat speechless
with indignation. It was not until he had buttoned the very last button
that he was able to enunciate.
"Listen here to me, Schrimm!" he said. "If Lester goes once in a while
on a restaurant in the evening, that's his business; and, anyhow, so
far what I could see, Schrimm, it don't interfere none with his
designing garments which you are stealing on us just as soon as we get
'em on the market. Furthermore, Schrimm, if Sidney plays Kelly pool
every afternoon, you could bet your life he also sells him a big bill
of goods, also. You got to entertain a customer oncet in a while if you
want to sell him goods, Schrimm; and, anyhow, Schrimm, if it would be
you would be trying to sell goods to this here Kelly, you wouldn't got
sense enough to play pool with him. You would waste your time trying to
learn him auction pinochle."
"But, Mr. Gembitz," Schrimm began, "when a feller plays Kelly pool----"
"And as for Max," Gembitz interrupted, "if you would be so good a boy
as Max is, Schrimm, might your father would be alive to-day yet."
"What d'ye mean?" Schrimm cried. "My father died when I was two years
old already."
"Sure, I know," Gembitz concluded; "and one thing I am only sorry,
Schrimm: your father was a decent, respectable man, Schrimm, but he
ought to got to die three years sooner. That's all."
No sooner had Mr. Gembitz left Hammersmith's restaurant than the
_gefuellte Rinderbrust_ commenced to assert itself; and by the time
he arrived at his place of business he was experiencing all the
preliminary symptoms of a severe bilious attack. Nevertheless, he
pulled himself together and as he sat down at his desk he called loudly
for Sidney.
"He ain't in," Max said.
"Oh, he ain't, ain't he?" Mr. Gembitz retorted. "Well, where is he?"
"He went out with a feller from the New Idea Store, Bridgetown," Max
answered, drawing on his imagination in the defence of his brother.
"New Idea Store!" Gembitz repeated. "What's the feller's name?"
Max shrugged.
"I forgot his name," he answered.
"Well, I ain't forgot his name," Gembitz continued. "His name is Kelly;
and every afternoon Schrimm tells me Sidney is playing this here Kelly
pool."
For a brief interval Max stared at his father; then he broke into an
unrestrained laugh.
"_Nu!_" Gembitz cried. "What's the joke?"
"Why," Max explained, "you're all twisted. Kelly ain't a feller at all.
Kelly pool's a game, like you would say straight pinochle and auction
pinochle--there's straight pool and Kelly pool."
Gembitz drummed on his desk with his fingers.
"Do you mean to told me there ain't no such person, which he is buying
goods for a concern, called Kelly?" he demanded.
Max nodded.
"Then that loafer just fools away his time every afternoon," Gembitz
said in choking tones; "and, after all I done for him, he----"
"What's the matter, popper?" Max cried, for Gembitz's lips had suddenly
grown purple, and, even as Max reached forward to aid him, he lurched
from his chair on to the floor.
Half an hour later Samuel Gembitz was undergoing the entirely novel
experience of riding uptown in a taxicab, accompanied by a young
physician who had been procured from the medical department of an
insurance company across the street.
"Say, lookyhere," Sam protested as they assisted him into the cab,
"this ain't necessary at all!"
"No, I know it isn't," the doctor agreed, in his best imitation of an
old practitioner's jocular manner. He was, in fact, a very young
practitioner and was genuinely alarmed at Samuel's condition, which he
attributed to arteriosclerosis and not to _gefuellte Rinderbrust_. "But,
just the same," he concluded, "it is just as well to keep as quiet as
possible for the present."
Sam nodded and lay back wearily in the leather seat of the taxicab
while it threaded its way through the traffic of lower Fifth Avenue.
Only once did he appear to take an interest in his surroundings, and
that was when the taxicab halted at the end of a long line of traffic
opposite the debris of a new building.
"What's going on here?" he asked faintly.
"It's pretty nearly finished," the doctor replied. "Weldon, Jones &
Company, of Minneapolis, are going to open a New York store."
Sam nodded again and once more closed his eyes. He grew more
uncomfortable as the end of the journey approached, for he dreaded the
reception that awaited him. Max had telephoned the news of his father's
illness to his sister, Miss Babette Gembitz, Sam's only daughter, who
upon her mother's death had assumed not only the duties but the manner
and bearing of that tyrannical person; and Sam knew she would make a
searching investigation of the cause of his ailment.
"Doctor, what do you think is the matter with me?" he asked, by way of
a feeler.
"At your age, it's impossible to say," the doctor replied; "but nothing
very serious."
"No?" Sam said. "Well, you don't think it's indigestion, do you?"
"Decidedly not," the doctor said.
"Well, then, you shouldn't forget and tell my daughter that," Sam
declared as the cab stopped opposite his house, "otherwise she will
swear I am eating something which disagrees with me."
He clambered feebly to the sidewalk, where stood Miss Babette Gembitz
with Dr. Sigmund Eichendorfer.
"_Wie gehts_, Mr. Gembitz?" Doctor Eichendorfer cried cheerfully as he
took Sam's arm.
"_Unpaesslich_, Doctor," Sam replied. "I guess I'm a pretty sick man."
He glanced at his daughter for some trace of tears, but she met his
gaze unmoved.
"You've been making a hog of yourself again, popper!" she said
severely.
"_Oser!_" Sam protested. "Crackers and milk I am eating for my lunch.
The doctor could tell you the same."
Ten minutes afterward Sam was tucked up in his bed, while in an
adjoining room the young physician communicated his diagnosis to Doctor
Eichendorfer.
"Arteriosclerosis, I should say," he murmured, and Doctor Eichendorfer
sniffed audibly.
"You mean Bright's Disease--ain't it?" he said. "That feller's arteries
is as sound as plumbing."
Doctor Eichendorfer had received his medical training in Vienna and he
considered it to be a solemn duty never to agree with the diagnosis of
a native M.D.
"I thought of Bright's Disease," the young physician replied, speaking
a little less than the naked truth; for in diagnosing Sam's ailment he
had thought of nearly every disease he could remember.
"Well, you could take it from me, Doctor," Eichendorfer concluded,
"when one of these old-timers goes under there's a history of a rich,
unbalanced diet behind it; and Bright's Disease it is. Also, you
shouldn't forget to send in your bill--not a cent less than ten
dollars."
He shook his confrere warmly by the hand; and three hours later the
melancholy circumstance of Sam's Bright's Disease was known to every
member of the cloak and suit trade, with one exception--to wit, as the
lawyers say, Sam himself. He knew that he had had _gefuellte Rinderbrust_,
but by seven o'clock this knowledge became only a torment as the savoury
odour of the family dinner ascended to his bedroom.
"Babette," he called faintly, as becomes a convalescent, "ain't I going
to have no dinner at all to-night?"
For answer Babette brought in a covered tray, on which were arranged
two pieces of dry toast and a glass of buttermilk.
"What's this?" Sam cried.
"That's your dinner," Babette replied, "and you should thank Gawd you
are able to eat it."
"You don't got to told me who I should thank for such slops which you
are bringing me," he said, with every trace of convalescence gone from
his tones. "Take that damn thing away and give me something to eat.
Ain't that _gedaempftes Kalbfleisch_ I smell?"
Babette made no reply, but gazed sadly at her father as she placed the
tray on a chair beside his bed.
"You don't know yourself how sick you are," she said. "Doctor Eichendorfer
says you should be very quiet."
This admonition produced no effect on Sam, who immediately started on
an abusive criticism of physicians in general and Dr. Sigmund
Eichendorfer in particular.
"What does that _dummer Esel_ know?" he demanded. "I bet yer that the
least he tells you is I got Bright's Disease!"
Babette shook her head slowly.
"So you know it yourself all the time," she commented bitterly; "and
yet you want to eat _gedaempftes Kalbfleisch_, when you know as well as
I do it would pretty near kill you."
"Kill me!" Sam shouted. "What d'ye mean, kill me? I eat some _Rinderbrust_
for my lunch yet; and that's all what ails me. I ain't got no more Bright's
Disease as you got it."
"If you think that lying is going to help you, you're mistaken,"
Babette replied calmly. "To a man in your condition _gedaempftes
Kalbfleisch_ is poison."
"I ain't lying to you," Sam insisted. "I am eating too much lunch, I am
telling you."
"And you're not going to eat too much dinner!" Babette said as she
tiptoed from the room.
Thus Sam drank a glass of buttermilk and ate some dry toast for his
supper; and, in consequence, he slept so soundly that he did not waken
until Dr. Sigmund Eichendorfer entered his room at eight o'clock the
following morning. Under the bullying frown of his daughter Sam
submitted to a physical examination that lasted for more than an hour;
and when Doctor Eichendorfer departed he left behind him four varieties
of tablets and a general interdiction against eating solid food,
getting up, going downtown, or any of the other dozen things that Sam
insisted upon doing.
It was only under the combined persuasion of Max, Babette, and Lester
that he consented to stay in bed that forenoon; and when lunchtime
arrived he was so weakened by a twenty-four-hour fast and Doctor
Eichendorfer's tablets, that he was glad to remain undisturbed for the
remainder of the day.
At length, after one bedridden week, accompanied by a liquid diet and
more tablets, Sam was allowed to sit up in a chair and to partake of a
slice of chicken.
"Well, popper, how do you feel to-day?" asked Max, who had just arrived
from the office.
"I feel pretty sick, Max," Sam replied; "but I guess I could get
downtown to-morrow, all right."
Babette sat nearby and nodded her head slowly.
"Guess some more, popper," she said. "Before you would go downtown yet,
you are going to Lakewood."
"Lakewood!" Sam exclaimed. "What d'ye mean, Lakewood? If you want to go
to Lakewood, go ahead. I am going downtown to-morrow. What, d'ye think
a business could run itself?"
"So far as business is concerned," Max said, "you shouldn't trouble
yourself at all. We are hustling like crazy downtown and we already
sold over three thousand dollars' worth of them 1040's."
Sam sat up suddenly.
"I see my finish," he said, "with you boys selling goods left and right
to a lot of fakers like the New Idea Store."
"New Idea Store nothing!" Max retorted. "We are selling over two
thousand dollars to Falkstatter, Fein & Company--and I guess they're
fakers--what!"
Sam leaned back in his chair.
"Falkstatter, Fein & Company is all right," he admitted.
"And, furthermore," Max continued, "we sold 'em fancy colours like
wistaria, copenhagen, and champagne; and them navy blues and browns
they wouldn't touch."
"No?" Sam said weakly.
"So you see, popper, if you would been downtown we wouldn't got that
order at all," Max continued. "So what's the use worrying yourself?"
"He's right, popper," Babette added. "You're getting too old to be
going downtown every day. The boys could look after the business. It's
time you took a rest."
At this juncture Doctor Eichendorfer entered.
"Hello!" he said. "What are you doing sitting up here? You must get
right back to bed."
"What are you talking nonsense?" Sam cried. "I am feeling pretty good
already."
"You look it," Eichendorfer said. "If you could see the way you are run
down this last week yet you wouldn't talk so fresh."
He seized Sam by the arm as he spoke and lifted him out of the chair.
"You ain't so heavy like you used to be, Mr. Gembitz," he went on as he
helped Sam to his bed. "Another week and you could sit up, but not
before."
Sam groaned as they tucked the covers around him.
"Now you see how weak you are," Eichendorfer cried triumphantly. "Don't
get up again unless I would tell you first."
After leaving some more tablets, Doctor Eichendorfer took his leave;
and half an hour later Sam knew by the tantalizing odours that pervaded
his bedroom that the family dined on stewed chicken with _Kartoffel
Kloesse_. For the remainder of the evening Sam lay with his eyes closed;
and whenever Babette approached his bedside with a tumbler of water and
the box of tablets he snored ostentatiously. Thus he managed to evade
the appetite-dispelling medicine until nearly midnight, when Babette
coughed loudly.
"Popper," she said, "I'm going to bed and I want you to take your
tablets."
"Leave 'em on the chair here," he replied, "and I'll take 'em in a few
minutes."
He watched her place the tablets on the chair; and as soon as her back
was turned he seized them eagerly and thrust them into the pocket of
his night-shirt.
"Where's the water?" he mumbled; and when Babette handed him the
tumbler he gulped down the water with noise sufficient to account for a
boxful of tablets.
"Now, leave me alone," he said; and Babette kissed him coldly on the
left ear.
"I hope you'll feel better in the morning," she said dutifully.
"Don't worry," Sam said. "I'm going to."
He listened carefully until he heard the door close and then he threw
back the coverlet. Very gingerly he slid to the carpet and planted
himself squarely on his feet. A sharp attack of "pins and needles"
prevented any further movement for some minutes; but at length it
subsided and he began to search for his slippers. His bathrobe hung on
the back of the door, and, after he had struggled into it, he opened
the door stealthily and, clinging to the balustrade, crept downstairs
to the basement.
He negotiated the opening of the ice-box door with the skill of an
experienced burglar; and immediately thereafter he sat down at the
kitchen table in front of a dishful of stewed chicken, four cold boiled
potatoes, the heel of a rye loaf, and a bottle of beer. Twenty minutes
later he laid away the empty dish on top of the kitchen sink, with the
empty beer bottle beneath it; then, after supplying himself with a box
of matches, he crept upstairs to his room.
When Babette opened the door the following morning she raised her chin
and sniffed suspiciously.
"Ain't it funny?" she murmured, "I could almost swear I smell stale
cigar smoke here."
Sam turned his face to the wall.
"You're crazy!" he said.
During the ensuing week Sam Gembitz became an adept in the art of
legerdemain; and the skill with which he palmed tablets under the very
nose of his daughter was only equalled by the ingenuity he displayed in
finally disposing of them. At least three dozen disappeared through a
crack in the wainscoting behind Sam's bed, while as many more were
poked through a hole in the mattress; and thus Sam became gradually
stronger, until Doctor Eichendorfer himself could not ignore the
improvement in his patient's condition.
"All right; you can sit up," he said to Sam; "but, remember, the least
indiscretion and back to bed you go."
Sam nodded, for Babette was in the room at the time; and, albeit Sam
had gained new courage through his nightly raids on the ice-box, he
lacked the boldness that three square meals a day engender.
"I would take good care of myself, Doctor," he said, "and the day after
to-morrow might I could go downtown, maybe?"
"The day after to-morrow!" Doctor Eichendorfer exclaimed. "Why, you
wouldn't be downtown for a month yet."
"The idea!" Babette cried indignantly. "As if the boys couldn't look
after the place without you! What d'ye want to go downtown for at all?"
"What d'ye mean, what do I want to go downtown for at all?" Sam
demanded sharply, and Miss Babette Gembitz blushed; whereupon Sam rose
from his chair and stood unsteadily on his feet.
"You are up to some monkey business here--all of you!" he declared.
"What is it about?"
Babette exchanged glances with Doctor Eichendorfer, who shrugged his
shoulders in reply.
"Well, if you want to know what it is, popper," she said, "I'll tell
you. You're a very sick man and the chances are you'll never go
downtown again." Doctor Eichendorfer nodded his approval and Sam sat
down again.
"So we may as well tell you right out plain," Babette continued; "the
boys have given out to the trade that you've retired on account of
sickness--and here it is in the paper and all."
She handed Sam a copy of the _Daily Cloak and Suit Record_ and
indicated with her finger an item headed "Personals." It read as
follows:
NEW YORK.--Samuel Gembitz, of S. Gembitz & Sons, whose serious
illness was reported recently, has retired from the firm, and the
business will be carried on by Max Gembitz, Lester Gembitz, and
Sidney Gembitz, under the firm style of Gembitz Brothers.