wronged any longer. Not only is my father getting the service of a more
than competent salesman for nothing, but he's having the use of your
five thousand dollars as well. Disgraceful, that's what I call it."
Zwiebel gazed at him earnestly for a minute.
"Say, lookyhere, Rothman," he said at length, "what monkey business are
you trying to do?"
"I'm not trying to do any monkey business at all," Ferdy cried with a
great show of righteous indignation. "I'm doing this because I feel
that it's the only proper thing. What you want to do now is to take
Milton out of the old man's place and find him a job with some other
cloak and suit concern. That boy could command his twenty-five a week
anywhere. Then, of course, the old man would have to cough up the five
thousand."
Zwiebel nodded his head slowly.
"You're a pretty good son, Rothman," he commented, "I must say. But,
anyhow, you ain't very previous with your advice, because I made up my
mind this morning already that that's what I would do, anyhow."
He lit a cigar and puffed deliberately.
"And now, Rothman," he said, "if you would excuse me, I got business to
attend to."
"Just one word more," Ferdy cried. "My father has got a girl working
for him by the name of Levy, and I think if you knew what kind of girl
she is, you wouldn't want Milton to go with her any more."
Zwiebel rose from his chair and his eyes blazed.
"You dirty dawg!" he roared. "Out--out from my place!"
He grabbed the collar of Ferdy's coat together with a handful of his
curly hair, and with a well-directed kick he propelled the budding
advocate through the office doorway. After a minute Ferdy picked
himself up and ran to the stairway. There he paused and shook his fist
at Zwiebel.
"I'll make you sweat for this!" he bellowed.
Zwiebel laughed raucously.
"Say something more about that young lady," he cried, "and I'll kick
you to the subway yet."
It was nearly half-past twelve when Charles Zwiebel entered the
sample-room of Levy Rothman & Co., on Eighteenth Street. He descried
Milton in his shirt sleeves extolling the merits of one of Rothman's
stickers to a doubtful customer from Bradford County, Pennsylvania.
"Hello, pop!" Milton cried. "Too busy to talk to you now. Take a seat."
"Where's Rothman?" Zwiebel asked.
"Out to lunch," Milton replied. "I'll be through in a minute."
Zwiebel watched his son in silence until the sale was consummated, and
after Milton had shaken the departing customer's hand he turned to his
father.
"Well, pop," he said, "this is the first time you've been up here since
I've been here, ain't it?"
Zwiebel nodded.
"I wish I would of come up here before," he said. "Say, Milton, who is
this here Miss Levy what works here?"
Milton blushed.
"She's in the office," he murmured. "Why, what do you want to know
for?"
"Well, I met Henry Feigenbaum in the car this morning," Zwiebel went
on, "and he was telling me about her. He says she comes from a family
what him and me knows in the old country. The father drove a truck
already."
"That's where you make a big mistake," Milton cried indignantly. "Her
father's in the real-estate business and pretty well fixed at that."
Mr. Zwiebel smiled.
"That must be Simon Levy, the feller what owns a couple houses with
that shark Henochstein. Ain't it?" he hazarded.
"Her father ain't in partnership with nobody," Milton rejoined. "His
name is Maximilian Levy and he owns a whole lot of property."
At this juncture Miss Levy herself poked her head through the doorway.
"Milton," she cried sharply, "ain't you got something to do? Because if
you haven't there are a lot of cutting slips to be made out."
Charles Zwiebel's face spread into a broad grin. "Go ahead, Milton," he
said, "and attend to business. I'll wait here till Rothman comes in."
Ten minutes later Levy Rothman entered. He greeted Zwiebel with a scowl
and glared around the empty sample-room.
"Well, Zwiebel," he growled, "what d'ye want now?"
"Oh, nothing," Zwiebel replied blandly. "I thought I'd step in and see
how my Milton was getting along."
"You see how he is getting along," Rothman said. "He ain't here at all.
That feller takes an hour for his lunch every day."
Zwiebel drew a cigar out of his pocket and licked it reflectively.
"So," he said, "you couldn't do no better with him than that, hey?
Well, Rothman, I guess it ain't no use fooling away your time any more.
Give me my five thousand dollars and I will take back the boy into my
business again."
Rothman turned pale.
"If you would let the boy stay here a while," he suggested, "he would
turn out all right, maybe."
"What's the matter?" Zwiebel asked. "Ain't you got the five thousand
handy?"
"The five thousand is nothing," Rothman retorted. "You could get your
five thousand whenever you want it. The fact is, Zwiebel, while the boy
is a low-life, y'understand, I take an interest in that boy and I want
to see if I couldn't succeed in making a man of him."
Mr. Zwiebel waved his hand with the palm outward.
"'S all right, Rothman," he said. "You shouldn't put yourself to all
that trouble. You done enough for the boy, and I'm sure I'm thankful to
you. Besides, I'm sick of fooling away fifteen dollars every week."
Rothman shrugged his shoulders.
"Nah!" he said. "Keep the fifteen dollars, I will pay him the fifteen
dollars out of my own pocket."
"But the boy is all the time complaining, Rothman, he couldn't live on
fifteen dollars a week."
"All right, I'll give him twenty."
Zwiebel rose to his feet.
"You will, hey?" he roared. "You couldn't get that boy for fifty,
Rothman, nor a hundred, neither, because I knew it all along, Rothman,
and I always said it, that boy is a natural-born business man,
y'understand, and next week I shall go to work and buy a cloak and suit
business and put him into it. And that's all I got to say to you."
* * * * *
Maximilian Levy, real-estate operator, sat in his private office and
added up figures on the back of an envelope. As he did so, Charles
Zwiebel entered.
"Mr. Levy?" Zwiebel said.
"That's my name," Levy answered.
"My name is Mr. Zwiebel," his visitor announced, "and I came to see you
about a business matter."
"Take a seat, Mr. Zwiebel," Levy replied. "Seems to me I hear that name
somewheres."
"I guess you did hear it before," Zwiebel said. "Your girl works by the
same place what my boy used to work."
"Oh, Milton Zwiebel," Levy cried. "Sure I heard the name before. My
Clara always talks about what a good boy he is."
"I bet yer that's a good boy," Zwiebel declared proudly, "and a good
business head, too, Mr. Levy. In fact, I am arranging about putting the
boy into a cloak and suit business, and I understood you was a business
broker as well as a real-estate operator."
"Not no longer," Levy answered. "I used to be a business broker years
ago already, but I give it up since way before the Spanish War."
"Never mind," Zwiebel said; "maybe you could help me out, anyway. What
I'm looking for is a partner for my boy, and the way I feel about it is
like this: The boy used to be a little wild, y'understand, and so I am
looking for a partner for him what would keep him straight; and no
matter if the partner didn't have no money, Mr. Levy, I wouldn't take
it so particular. That boy is the only boy what I got, and certainly I
ain't a begger, neither, y'understand. You should ask anybody in the
cigar business, Mr. Levy, and they will tell you I am pretty well fixed
already."
"Sure, I know," Mr. Levy replied. "You got a pretty good rating. I
looked you up already. But, anyhow, Mr. Zwiebel, I ain't in the
business brokerage no more."
"I know you ain't," Zwiebel said, "but you could find just the partner
for my boy."
"I don't know of no partner for your boy, Mr. Zwiebel."
"Yes, you do," Zwiebel cried. "You know the very partner what I want
for that boy. Her name is Clara Levy."
"What!" Levy cried.
"Yes, sir," Zwiebel went on breathlessly. "That's the partner I mean.
That boy loves that girl of yours, Mr. Levy, and certainly he ought to
love her, because she done a whole lot for that boy, Mr. Levy, and I
got to say that she thinks a whole lot of him, too."
"But----" Mr. Levy commenced.
"But nothing, Mr. Levy," Zwiebel interrupted. "If the girl is satisfied
I wouldn't ask you to do a thing for the boy. Everything I will do for
him myself."
Mr. Levy rose and extended his hand.
"Mr. Zwiebel," he declared, "this is certainly very generous of you. I
tell you from the bottom of my heart I got four girls at home and two
of 'em ain't so young no more, so I couldn't say that I am all broke up
exactly. At the same time, Mr. Zwiebel, my Clara is a good girl, and
this much I got to say, I will give that girl a trousseau like a queen
should wear it."
Zwiebel shrugged.
"Well, sure," he said, "it ain't no harm that a girl should have a few
diamonds what she could wear it occasionally. At the same time, don't
go to no expense."
"And I will make for her a wedding, Mr. Zwiebel," Levy cried
enthusiastically, "which there never was before. A bottle of
tchampanyer wine to every guest."
"And now, Mr. Levy," Zwiebel said, "let us go downstairs and have a
bottle tchampanyer wine to ourselves."
That evening Milton and Clara sat together in the front parlour of the
Levy residence on One Hundred and Nineteenth Street. They had plighted
their troth more than an hour before and ought to have been billing and
cooing.
"No, Milton," Clara said as she caressed her fiance's hand, "credit
information shouldn't be entered on cards. It ought to be placed in an
envelope and indexed on a card index after it's been filed. Then you
can put the mercantile agency's report right in the envelope."
"Do you think we should get some of them loose-leaf ledgers?" he asked
her as he pressed a kiss on her left hand.
"I think they're sloppy," she replied. "Give me a bound ledger every
time."
"All right," Milton murmured. "Now, let's talk about something else."
"Yes," she cried enthusiastically, "let's talk about the fixtures. What
d'ye say to some of those low racks and----"
"Oh, cut it out!" Milton said as he took a snugger reef in his embrace.
"How about the music at the wedding?"
"Popper will fix that," she replied.
"No, he won't," Milton exclaimed. "I'm going to pay for it myself. In
fact, I'll hire 'em to-morrow morning."
"Who'll you get?" she asked.
"Professor Lusthaus's grand orchestra," Milton said with a grin.
CHAPTER SIX
BIRSKY & ZAPP
"A charitable sucker like Jonas Eschenbach, of Cordova, Ohio, is always
a close buyer, Barney," said Louis Birsky to his partner, Barnett Zapp,
as they sat in their show-room one morning in April. "For every dollar
he gives to an orphan asylum _oder_ a hospital, understand me, he beats
Adelstern down two on his prices; and supposing Adelstern does sell him
every season, for example, eight thousand dollars, Barney--what is it?"
"Sure, I know, Louis," Barnett Zapp retorted satirically. "The dawg
says the grapes ain't ripe because he couldn't reach 'em already."
Birsky shrugged his shoulders.
"For that matter, Barney," he said, "if the dawg could reach 'em _oder_
not, y'understand, it wouldn't make no difference, Barney, because a
dawg don't eat grapes anyhow. He eats meat, Barney; and, furthermore,
Barney, if you think it's _bekovet_ one partner calls the other partner
a dawg, y'understand, go ahead and do so, Barney."
"I ain't calling you a dawg, Louis," Zapp protested.
"Ain't you?" Louis rejoined. "All right, Barney, then I must be getting
deaf all of a sudden; but whether you are calling me a dawg _oder_ not,
Barney, I ain't looking to sell no goods to Jonas Eschenbach. On account
even if he would buy at our price, y'understand, then he wants us we
should _schnoder_ for this orphan asylum a hundred dollars and for that
orphan asylum another hundred, understand me--till we don't get no
profit left at all."
"That's all right, Louis," Barney said. "It don't do no harm that a
feller should give to charity oncet in a while, even if it would be to
please a customer."
"I wouldn't argue with you, Barney," Louis agreed, "but another thing,
Barney: the feller is crazy about baseball, understand me, which every
time he is coming down here in August to buy his fall and winter line,
Adelstern must got to waste a couple weeks going on baseball games
_mit_ him."
"Well, anyhow, Louis, Adelstern don't seem so anxious to get rid of
him," Zapp said. "Only yesterday I seen him lunching with Eschenbach
over in Hammersmith's, y'understand; and the way Adelstern is spreading
himself _mit_ broiled squabs and 'sparagus and hafterward a pint of
tchampanyer to finish, understand me, it don't look like he is losing
out on Eschenbach."
"That's all right, Barney," Birsky declared as he rose to his feet;
"some people wastes money and some people wastes time, and if you ain't
got no objections, Barney, I would take a look into the cutting room
and see how Golnik is getting on with them 1855's. We must positively
got to ship them goods to Feigenbaum before the end of next week;
because you know as well as I do, Barney, with a crank like Feigenbaum
we couldn't take no chances. He is coming in here this morning yet, and
the first thing he wants to know is how about them 1855's."
As he started for the door, however, he was interrupted by Jacob
Golnik, who comported himself in a manner so apologetic as to be
well-nigh cringing.
"Mr. Birsky," he said, "could I speak a few words something to you?"
"What's the matter, Golnik?" exclaimed Birsky. "Did you spoil them
1855's on us?"
Ordinarily the condescension that marks the relations between a
designer and his employer is exerted wholly by the designer; and the
alarm with which Birsky viewed his designer's servility was immediately
communicated to Zapp.
"I told you that silk was too good for them garments, Birsky," Zapp
cried.
"What d'ye mean, you told me the silk was too good?" Birsky shouted. "I
says right along giving silk like that in a garment which sells for
eight dollars is a crime, Zapp; and----"
"_Aber_ I ain't touched the silk yet," Golnik interrupted; "so what is
the use you are disturbing yourself, Mr. Birsky? I am coming to see you
about something else again, entirely different already."
Birsky grew suddenly calm.
"So, Golnik," he said, "you are coming here to see us about something
else again! Well, before you begin, Golnik, let me tell you you stand a
swell chance to gouge us for more money. We would positively stand on
our contract with you, Golnik; and even if it would be our busiest
season, Golnik, we----"
"What are you talking nonsense, Mr. Birsky?" Golnik broke in. "I ain't
coming here to ask money for myself, Mr. Birsky; and, furthermore, Mr.
Birsky, you must got to understand that nowadays is a difference matter
already from conditions in the cloak and suit trade ten years ago.
Nowadays an employer must got to take some little benevolence in the
interests of his employees, understand me, which when me and Joseph
Bogin and I. Kanef gets together with the operators and formed the
Mutual Aid Society Employees of Birsky & Zapp, understand me, we done
it as much out of consideration by you, Mr. Birsky, as by us."
Birsky exchanged disquieting glances with his partner.
"Sit down, Golnik," he said, "and tell me what is all this _Verruecktheit_."
"_Verruecktheit_!" Golnik cried indignantly. "What d'ye mean,
_Verruecktheit_, Mr. Birsky? This here is something which a big concern
like H. Dexter Adelstern is taking up, and you would see that other
people gets in it, too. These here mutual aid societies is something
which it not only benefits the employees but also the employers, Mr.
Birsky."
"You already said that before, Golnik," Birsky interrupted; "and if you
think we are paying you you should make speeches round here, Golnik,
let me tell you, Golnik, that Feigenbaum would be in our place any
minute now; and if we couldn't show him we are going ahead on them
1855's, understand me, the first thing you know he would go to work and
cancel the order on us."
"That may be, Mr. Birsky," Golnik went on, "_aber_ this here proposition
which I am putting up to you is a whole lot more important to you as
Feigenbaum's order."
Birsky opened his mouth to enunciate a vigorous protest, but Golnik
forestalled him by pounding a sample table with his fist in a gesture
he had observed only the night before at a lodge meeting of the
I.O.M.A. "Yes, Mr. Birsky," he shouted, "if you would want to do away
with strikes and loafing in your shop, understand me, now is your
chance, Mr. Birsky; because if an operator is got on deposit with his
employers ten dollars even, he ain't going to be in such a hurry that
he should strike _oder_ get fired."
"Got on deposit ten dollars?" Zapp inquired. "How does our operators
come to got with us a deposit of ten dollars, Golnik?"
"It's a very simple thing, Mr. Zapp," Golnik explained: "From the first
five weeks' wages of every one of your hundred operators you deduct one
dollar a week and keep it in the bank. That makes five hundred
dollars."
Zapp nodded.
"Then after that you deduct only twenty-five cents a week," Golnik went
on; "_aber_, at the end of five weeks only, the operator's got ten
dollars to his credit--and right there you got 'em where they wouldn't
risk getting fired by loafing or striking."
"_Aber_, if we deduct one dollar a week from a hundred operators for
five weeks, Golnik," Zapp commented, "that makes only five hundred
dollars, or five dollars to each operator--ain't it?"
"Sure, I know," Golnik replied; "_aber_ you and Mr. Birsky donate
yourselves to the mutual aid society five hundred dollars, and----"
"What!" Birsky shrieked. "Zapp and me donate five hundred dollars to
your rotten society!"
"Huh-huh," Golnik asserted weakly, and Zapp grew purple with rage.
"What do you think we are, Golnik," he demanded, "millionaires _oder_
crazy in the head? We got enough to do with our money without we should
make a present to a lot of low-life bums five hundred dollars."
"Well, then, for a start," Golnik said, "make it three hundred and
fifty dollars."
"We wouldn't give three hundred and fifty buttons, Golnik!" Birsky
declared savagely. "If you want to be a mutual aid society, Golnik,
nobody stops you, _aber_ we wouldn't deduct nothing and we wouldn't
donate nothing; so if it's all the same to you, Golnik, you should go
ahead on them 1855's and make an end here."
Having thus closed the interview, Louis Birsky turned his back on the
disgruntled Golnik, who stood hesitatingly for a brief interval.
"You don't want a little time to think it over maybe?" he suggested.
"Think it over!" Louis bellowed. "What d'ye mean, think it over? If you
stop some one which he is trying to pick your pocket, Golnik, would you
think it over and let him pick it, Golnik? What for an idee!"
He snorted so indignantly that he brought on a fit of coughing, in the
midst of which Golnik escaped, while the bulky figure of One-eye
Feigenbaum approached from the elevator.
"What's the matter, boys?" he said as with his remaining eye he
surveyed the retreating figure of Jacob Golnik. "Do you got trouble
with your designer again?"
Birsky shrugged his shoulders.
"Who ain't got trouble _mit_ a designer, Mr. Feigenbaum?" he asked.
"And the better the designer, y'understand, the more you got trouble
_mit_ him. Actually, Mr. Feigenbaum, you wouldn't believe the nerve
that feller Golnik is got it. If we wouldn't sit on him all the time,
understand me, he tries to run our business for us. Nothing is too much
that he asks us we should do for him."
Feigenbaum pawed the air with his right hand and sat down ponderously.
"You ain't got nothing on me, Birsky," he said. "Honestly, if you would
be running a drygoods store--and especially a chain of drygoods stores
like I got it, understand me--every saleswoman acts like a designer,
only worser yet. Do you know what is the latest craze with them girls?"
He emitted a tremulous sigh before answering his own rhetorical
question.
"Welfare work!" he continued. "Restrooms and lunchrooms, _mit_ a
trained nurse and _Gott weiss was noch_! Did you ever hear the like,
Birsky?--I should go to work and give them girls a restroom! I says to
Miss McGivney, my store superintendent in Cordova, I says: 'If the
girls wants to rest,' I says, 'they should go home,' I says. 'Here we
pay 'em to work, not to rest,' I says."
He paused for breath and wiped away an indignant moisture from his
forehead.
"In my Bridgetown store they ain't kicking at all," he went on; "_aber_
in my Cordova store--that's different again. There I got that
_meshugganeh_ Eschenbach to deal with; which, considering the monkey
business which goes on in that feller's place, y'understand, it's a
wonder to me that they got any time to attend to business at all. Two
people he's got working for him there--a man and a woman--which does
nothing but look after this here welfare _Naerrischkeit_."
"Go away!" Birsky exclaimed. "You don't say so!"
"The man used to was a _Spieler_ from baseball," Feigenbaum continued;
"and him and Eschenbach fixes up a ball team from the clerks and
delivery-wagon drivers, which they could lick even a lot of loafers
which makes a business of baseball already."
Birsky waggled his head from side to side and made incoherent sounds
through his nose by way of expressing his sympathy.
"And yet," Feigenbaum continued, "with all Eschenbach's craziness about
baseball and charities, Birsky, he does a big business there in
Cordova, which I wish I could say the same. Honestly, Birsky, such a
mean lot of salespeople which I got it in Cordova, y'understand, you
wouldn't believe at all. They are all the time at doggerheads with me."
"It's the same thing with us here, Mr. Feigenbaum," Birsky said. "Why,
would you believe it, Mr. Feigenbaum, just before you come in,
understand me, Golnik is trying to hold us up we should donate five
hundred dollars for an employees' mutual benefit society!"
Henry Feigenbaum pursed his lips as he listened to Birsky.
"I hope," he said in harsh tones, "you turned 'em down, Birsky."
Birsky nodded.
"I bet yer I did," he replied fervently, "like a shot already."
"Because," Feigenbaum continued, "if any concern which I am dealing
with starts any such foolishness as that, Birsky, I wouldn't buy from
them a dollar's worth more goods so long as I live--and that's all
there is to it."
"We ain't got no such idee in our head at all," Zapp assured him almost
tearfully. "Why, if you would hear the way we jumped on Golnik for
suggesting it even, you wouldn't think the feller would work for us any
more."
"I'm glad to know it," Feigenbaum said. "Us business men has got to
stick together, Zapp, and keep charity where it belongs, understand me;
otherwise we wouldn't know whether we are running businesses _oder_
hospitals _mit_ lodgeroom annexes, the way them employees' aid
societies is springing up."
He rose to his feet and took off his hat and coat, preparatory to going
over Birsky & Zapp's sample line.
"What we want in towns like Bridgetown and Cordova is less charities
and more asphalt pavements," he declared. "Every time a feller comes in
the store, Birsky, I couldn't tell whether he is a collector for a
hospital _oder_ a wagon shop. My delivery system costs me a fortune for
repairs already, the pavements is so rotten."
Zapp clucked his tongue sympathetically.
"If it ain't one thing it's another," he said; "so, if you're ready to
look over the rest of our line, Mr. Feigenbaum, I could assure you the
first operator which he is going into a mutual aid society here gets
fired on the spot, Mr. Feigenbaum. We would start showing you these
here washable poplins, which is genuine bargains at one seventy-five
apiece."
* * * * *
When Louis Birsky seated himself in Hammersmith's restaurant at one
o'clock that afternoon his appetite had been sharpened by a
two-thousand dollar order from Henry Feigenbaum, who that noon had
departed for his home in western Pennsylvania. Hence Louis attacked a
dish of _gefuellte Rinderbrust_ with so much ardour that he failed to
notice the presence at an adjoining table of Jonas Eschenbach, the
philanthropic drygoods merchant; and it was not until Louis had sopped
up the last drop of gravy and leaned back in voluptuous contemplation
of ordering his dessert that the strident tones of Charles Finkman,
senior member of Finkman & Maisener, attracted his attention.