"Why, just so soon as Eschenbach tells him he is going to sell out,"
Feigenbaum continued, "Adelstern right away disbands his mutual aid
society; and he also just so good as tells Eschenbach to his face,
y'understand, that all this baseball business was a waste of time,
understand me, and he only done it to get orders from Eschenbach! And a
man like Eschenbach, which he is a philanthropist and a gentleman,
understand me, takes the trouble he should give Adelstern pointers
about this here mutual aid society, which they are a blessing to both
employers and employees, _verstehst du mich_, all I could say is that
Adelstern acts like a loafer in throwing the whole thing up just
because Eschenbach quits!"
"_Aber_, Mr. Feigenbaum," Birsky said, while a puzzled expression came
over his face, "I thought you said when you was here last time that
Eschenbach goes too far in such things."
"When I was here last," Feigenbaum replied, "was something else again;
but when I left here Friday, understand me, right up till the last
minute Eschenbach says no, he wouldn't let twenty thousand of the
purchase price remain on a real-estate mortgage of the store property.
When I got to Cordova Saturday morning my lawyers there says that
Eschenbach stood ready to close the deal on them terms, y'understand,
provided I would let the old man look after our store's employees'
association, which I certainly agreed to; and so I bought his business
there and then, and I must got to buy at least five thousand dollars
goods before Wednesday morning for shipment by ten days already."
"You bought Eschenbach's store!" Zapp exclaimed.
Feigenbaum wriggled in Birsky's chair, which fitted him like a glove;
and after he had freed himself he rose ponderously.
"_Aber_ one moment, Mr. Feigenbaum," Birsky pleaded. "Did I understood
you to say that Eschenbach is to look after the mutual aid society in
your store?"
"I hope you ain't getting deef, Birsky," Feigenbaum replied.
"And you agreed to that?" Zapp cried.
"I certainly did," Feigenbaum said; "which, as I told you before, I am
coming to believe that this here mutual aid society business is an
elegant thing already, boys. And Eschenbach tells me I should tell you
that if he don't get here by next Sunday you should warm up that
pitcher and catcher of yours, as he would sure get down to New York by
the Sunday after."
Birsky led the way to the showroom with the detached air of a
somnambulist, while Zapp came stumbling after.
"And one thing I want to impress on you boys," Feigenbaum concluded:
"you want to do all you can to jolly the old boy along, understand me,
on account I might want to raise ten or fifteen thousand dollars from
him for some alterations I got in mind."
* * * * *
"Zapp," Birsky cried after he had ushered Feigenbaum into the elevator
at ten minutes to eleven, "I am going right over to the Kosciusko Bank
and----"
"What are you going to do?" Zapp cried in alarm, "transfer back that
five hundred dollars after what Feigenbaum tells us?"
"Transfer nothing!" Birsky retorted. "I am going over to the Kosciusko
Bank, understand me, and I am going to change that account. So, when
them _Roshoyim_ come in here, Zapp, tell 'em to wait till I get back.
By hook or by crook we must got to get 'em to come to work by to-morrow
sure, the way we would be rushed here--even if we must pay 'em a
hundred dollars apiece!"
Zapp nodded fervently.
"_Aber_ why must you got to go over to the bank now, Birsky?" he
insisted.
"Because I don't want to take no more chances," Birsky replied; "which
I would not only put in the 'as,' understand me, but I would write on
the bank's signature card straight up and down what the thing really
is"--he coughed impressively to emphasize the announcement--"Louis
Birsky," he said, "as Treasurer of the Mutual Aid Society Employees of
Birsky & Zapp!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE MOVING PICTURE WRITES
When Max Schindelberger opened the door leading into the office of
Lesengeld & Belz his manner was that of the local millionaire's wife
bearing delicacies to a bedridden laundress, for Max felt that he was
slumming.
"Is Mr. Lesengeld disengaged?" he asked in the rotund voice of one
accustomed to being addressed as Brother President three nights out of
every week, and he cast so benevolent a smile on the stenographer that
she bridled immediately.
"Mis-ter Lesengeld," she called, and in response B. Lesengeld projected
his torso from an adjacent doorway.
"Miss Schimpf," he said pleadingly, "do me the favour and don't make
such a _Geschrei_ every time somebody comes in the office. Goes through
me like a knife yet."
Max Schindelberger's smile took on the quality of indulgency as he
advanced slowly toward B. Lesengeld.
"How do you do, Mr. Lesengeld?" he said, proffering his hand; and after
glancing suspiciously at the extended palm Lesengeld took it in a limp
clasp.
"I already suscribed to that--now--asylum, ain't it?" Lesengeld began,
for his experienced eye had at once noted the fraternal society charm,
the I.O.M.A. lapel button, and the white tie that proclaimed Max to
be a philanthropist.
Max laughed as heartily as he could.
"Ain't it funny," he said, "how just so soon as anybody sees me they
think I am going to do something charitable? As a matter of fact, Mr.
Lesengeld, I am coming here to see you on a business matter which
really it ain't my business at all."
Lesengeld grudgingly held open the door, and Max squeezed past him.
"You got a comfortable place here, Mr. Lesengeld," he began, "plain and
old-fashioned, but comfortable."
Lesengeld removed some dusty papers from a chair.
"It suits me," he said. "Take a seat, Mr. ----"
"Schindelberger," Max said as he sat down.
"Used to was Schindelberger, Steinfeld & Company in the underwear
business?"
Max nodded and his smile began to fade.
"My partner Belz got a couple of the composition notes in the middle
compartment in our safe for six years already," Lesengeld continued.
"He keeps 'em for sowveneers, on account the feller he took 'em off
of--a relation from his wife's--was no good, neither. Which you was
telling me you wanted to see me about a business matter."
Max Schindelberger cleared his throat.
"Anybody could have reverses in business," he said.
"Sure, I know," Lesengeld commented. "Only there is two kinds of
reverses, Mr. Schindelberger, reverses from up to down and reverses
from down to up, like when a feller couldn't pay his composition notes,
Mr. Schindelberger, and two years later is buying elevator apartments
yet in his wife's name, Mr. Schindelberger." He tapped the desk
impatiently. "Which you was saying," he added, "that you wanted to see
me about a business matter."
Max coughed away a slight huskiness. When he had started from his
luxuriously appointed office on lower Nassau Street to visit Mr.
Lesengeld on East Broadway, he had felt a trifle sorry for Lesengeld,
so soon to feel the embarrassment and awkwardness incidental to meeting
for the first time, and all combined under one frockcoat, the District
Grand Master of the I.O.M.A., the President of the Bella Hirshkind Home
for Indigent Females, and director and trustee of three orphan asylums
and of an eye, ear, and throat infirmary. With the first reference to
the defunct underwear business, however, Max began to lose the sense of
confidence that the dignity of his various offices lent him; and by the
time Lesengeld had mentioned the elevator apartment houses he had
assumed to Max all the majesty of, say, for example, the Federal Grand
Master of the I.O.M.A., with Jacob H. Schiff and Andrew Carnegie thrown
in for good measure.
"The fact is," Max stammered, "I called to see you about the
three-thousand dollar mortgage you are holding on Rudnik's house--the
second mortgage."
Lesengeld nodded.
"First mortgages I ain't got any," he said, "and if you are coming to
insinivate that I am a second-mortgage shark, Mr. Schindelberger, go
ahead and do so. I am dealing in second mortgages now twenty years
already, and I hear myself called a shark so often, Mr. Schindelberger,
that it sounds like it would be a compliment already. I come pretty
near getting it printed on my letterheads."
"I didn't said you was a second-mortgage shark, Mr. Lesengeld; a man
could be a whole lot worse as a second-mortgage shark, understand me,
and do a charity once in awhile, anyhow. You know what it stands in
_Gemara_ yet?"
Schindelberger settled himself in his chair preparatory to intoning a
Talmudical quotation, but Lesengeld forestalled him.
"Sure, I know," he said, "it stands in _Gemara_ a whole lot about
charity, Mr. Schindelberger, but it don't say no more about second
mortgages as it does about composition notes, for instance. So if you
are coming to me to ask me I should give Rudnik an extension on his
Clinton Street house, you could learn _Gemara_ to me till I would
become so big a _Melammed_ as you are, understand me, and it wouldn't
make no difference. I never extend no mortgages for nobody."
"But, Mr. Lesengeld, you got to remember this is an exception,
otherwise I wouldn't bother myself I should come up here at all. I am
interesting myself in this here matter on account Rudnik is an old man,
understand me, and all he's got in the world is the Clinton Street
house; and, furthermore, he will make a will leaving it to the Bella
Hirshkind Home for Indignant Females, which if you want to go ahead and
rob a lot of poor old widders of a few thousand dollars, go ahead, Mr.
Lesengeld."
He started to rise from his chair, but he thought better of it as
Lesengeld began to speak.
"Don't make me no bluffs, Schindelberger," Lesengeld cried, "because,
in the first place, if Rudnik wills his house to the Bella Hirshkind
Home, what is that my business? And, in the second place, Belz's wife's
mother's a cousin got a sister which for years, Belz, makes a standing
offer of five hundred dollars some one should marry her, and finally he
gets her into the Home as single as the day she was born already."
"One or two ain't widders," Schindelberger admitted, "but they're all
old, and when you say what is it your business that Rudnik leaves his
house to charity, sure it ain't. _Aber_ it's your business if you try
to take the house away from charity. Even if you would be dealing in
second mortgages, Mr. Lesengeld, that ain't no reason why you shouldn't
got a heart once in a while."
"What d'ye mean, I ain't got a heart?" Lesengeld demanded. "I got just
so much a heart as you got it, Mr. Schindelberger. Why, last night I
went on a moving pictures, understand me, where a little girl gets her
father he should give her mother another show, _verstehst du_, and I
assure you I cried like a baby, such a soft heart I got it." He had
risen from his chair and was pacing excitedly up and down the little
room. "The dirty dawg wants to put her out of the house already on
account she is kissing her brother which he is just come home from
twenty years on the Pacific Coast," he continued; "and people calls me
a shark yet, Mr. Schindelberger, which my wife and me is married
twenty-five years next _Succos Halamode_ and never so much as an
unkind breath between us."
"That's all right, Mr. Lesengeld," Schindelberger said. "I don't doubt
your word for a minute, but when it comes to foreclosing a mortgage on
a house which it, so to speak, belongs to a home for poor widders and a
couple of old maids, understand me, then that's something else again."
"Who says I'm going to foreclose the mortgage?" Lesengeld demanded.
"You didn't said you was going to foreclose it," Schindelberger
replied, "but you says you ain't never extended no mortgages for
nobody."
"Which I never did," Lesengeld agreed; "but that ain't saying I ain't
never going to. Seemingly, also, you seem to forget I got a partner,
Mr. Schindelberger, which people calls him just so much a shark as me,
Mr. Schindelberger."
"_Aber_ you are just telling me your partner is putting into the Bella
Hirshkind Home a relation from his wife's already, and if he wouldn't
be willing to extend the mortgage, Mr. Lesengeld, who would? Because I
needn't got to tell you, Mr. Lesengeld, the way business is so rotten
nowadays people don't give up so easy no more; and if it wouldn't be
that the Bella Hirshkind Home gets from somebody a whole lot of
assistance soon it would bust up sure, and Belz would quick find
himself stuck with his wife's relation again, and don't you forget it."
"But----" Lesengeld began.
"But nothing, Mr. Lesengeld!" Schindelberger cried. "Here's where the
Bella Hirshkind Home is got a show to make a big haul, so to speak,
because this here Rudnik has got something the matter with his liver
which it is only a question of time, understand me, on account the
feller is an old bachelor without anybody to look after him, and he
eats all the time twenty-five-cent regular dinners. I give him at the
outside six months."
"But are you sure the feller makes a will leaving his house to the
Bella Hirshkind Home?" Lesengeld asked.
"What d'ye mean, am I sure?" Schindelberger exclaimed. "Of course I
ain't sure. That's why I am coming up here this morning. If you would
extend first the mortgage on that house, Mr. Lesengeld, Rudnik makes
the will, otherwise not; because it would cost anyhow fifteen dollars
for a lawyer he should draw up the will, ain't it, and what's the use
we should spend the money if you take away from him the house?"
"But if I would extend first the mortgage, Schindelberger, might the
feller wouldn't make the will maybe."
Schindelberger clucked his tongue impatiently.
"Just because I am so charitable I don't got to be a fool exactly," he
said. "If you would extend the mortgage, Mr. Lesengeld, I would bring
Rudnik up here with a lawyer, and before the extension agreement is
signed Rudnik would sign his will and put it in your safe to keep."
Lesengeld hesitated for a minute.
"I'll tell you, Schindelberger," he said at length; "give me a little
time I should think this matter over. My partner is up in the Bronix
and wouldn't be back till to-morrow."
"But all I want is your word, Mr. Lesengeld," Schindelberger protested,
"because might if I would go back and tell Rudnik you wouldn't extend
the mortgage he would go right away to the river and jump in maybe."
"Yow, he would jump in!" Lesengeld cried. "Only the other day I seen on
a moving pictures a fillum which they called it Life is Sweet, where an
old man eighty years old jumps into the river on account his grandson
died in an elegant furnished apartment already; and when a young feller
rescues him he gives him for ten thousand dollars a check, which I
wouldn't believe it at all if I didn't seen the check with my own eyes
yet. I was terrible broke up about the grandson, Mr. Schindelberger,
_aber_ when I seen the check I didn't got no more sympathy for the old
man at all. Fifty dollars would of been plenty, especially when the
young feller turns out to be the son of the old man's boy which he
ain't heard from in years."
"Sure, I know," Schindelberger agreed, "_aber_ such things only happen
in moving pictures, Mr. Lesengeld, and if Rudnik would jump in the
river, understand me, the least that happens him is he would get
drownded and the Bella Hirshkind Home would go _Mechulla_ sure."
"Well, I'll tell you," Lesengeld said; "you could say to Rudnik that I
says I would extend the mortgage supposing my partner is agreeable, on
consideration he would leave the house to the Bella Hirshkind Home, and
Rudnik is to pay three hundred and fifty dollars to my lawyer for
drawing the extension agreement."
"_Aber_, Mr. Lesengeld----" Schindelberger began. He was about to
protest against the size of the bonus demanded under the guise of
counsel fee when he was interrupted by a resounding, "_Koosh!_" from
Lesengeld.
"That is my last word and the very best I could do," Lesengeld
concluded, "except I would get my lawyer to fix up the will and
_schenk_ it to you free for nothing."
* * * * *
"I don't know what comes over you lately, Belz," Lesengeld complained
the following morning. "Every day you come down looking like a bear
_mit_ a spoiled tail."
"I got a right to look that way," Belz replied. "If you would got such
a wife's relation like I got it, Lesengeld, there'd be no sitting in
the same office with you at all. When it isn't one thing it's another.
Yesterday my wife's mother's a sister's cousin gets a day off and comes
round and gets dinner with us. I think I told you about her before--Miss
Blooma Duckman. Nothing suits that woman at all. The way she acts you
would think she lives in the bridal soot at the Waldorfer, and she gets
my wife so mad, understand me, that she throws away a whole dish of
_Tzimmus_ in the garbage can already--which I got to admit that the
woman is right, Lesengeld--my wife don't make the finest _Tzimmus_ in
the world."
"Suppose she don't," Lesengeld commented. "Ain't it better she should
spoil some _Tzimmus_ which all it's got into it is carrots, potatoes,
and a little chuck? If it would be that she makes a failure _mit Gaense
oder_ chickens which it really costs money, understand me, then you got
a right to kick."
"That's what I says," Belz replied, "_aber_ that Miss Duckman takes
everything so particular. She kicks about it all the way up in the
subway, which the next time I get one of my wife's relations in a Home,
either it would be so far away she couldn't come to see us at all, or
it would be so nearby that I don't got to lose a night's rest seeing
her home. I didn't get to bed till pretty near two o'clock."
He stifled a yawn as he sat down at his desk.
"All the same, Lesengeld," he added, "they certainly got a nice place
up there for old women. There's lots of respectable business men pays
ten dollars a week for their wives in the Catskills already which they
don't got it so comfortable. Ain't it a shame, Lesengeld, that with a
charity like that which is really a charity, people don't support it
better as they do?"
"I bet yer!" Lesengeld cried. "The way some people acts not only they
ain't got no hearts, y'understand, but they ain't got no sense,
neither. I seen a case yesterday where an old _Rosher_ actually refuses
to pay a month's rent for his son's widder _mit_ a little boy, to save
'em being put out on the sidewalk. Afterward he goes broke, understand
me, and when the boy grows up he's got the nerve to make a touch from
him a couple of dollars and the boy goes to work and gives it to him.
If I would be the boy the old man could starve to death; I wouldn't
give him not one cent. They call us sharks, Belz, but compared with
such a _Haman_ we ain't even sardines."
"Sure, I know," Belz said as he consulted the firm's diary; "and if you
wouldn't waste your time going on so many moving pictures, Lesengeld,
might you would attend to business maybe. Yesterday was ten days that
feller Rudnik's mortgage is past due, and what did you done about it?
Nothing, I suppose."
"Suppose again, Belz," Lesengeld retorted. "A feller was in here to see
me about it and I agreed we would give Rudnik an extension."
"What!" Belz cried. "You agreed you would give him an extension! Are
you crazy _oder_ what? The way money is so tight nowadays and real
estate gone to hellandall, we as good as could get a deed of that house
from that feller."
"Sure we could," Lesengeld replied calmly, "but we ain't going to. Once
in a while, Belz, even in the second-mortgage business, circumstances
alters cases, and this here is one of them cases; so before you are
calling me all kinds of suckers, understand me, you should be so good
and listen to what I got to tell you."
Belz shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
"Go as far as you like," he said, "_aber_ if it's something which you
seen it on a moving pictures, Lesengeld, I don't want to hear it at
all."
"It didn't happen on a moving pictures, Belz, but just the same if even
you would seen it on a moving pictures you would say to yourself that
with a couple of fellers like you and me, which a few hundred dollars
one way or the other wouldn't make or break us, understand me, we would
be all kinds of crooks and highwaymen if we would went to work and turn
a lot of old widders out into the street."
"Lesengeld," Belz shouted impatiently, "do me the favour and don't make
no speeches. What has turning a lot of old widders into the street got
to do with Rudnik's mortgage?"
"It's got a whole lot to do with it," Lesengeld replied, "because
Rudnik's house he is leaving to a Home for old women, and if we take
away the house from him then the Home wouldn't get his house, and the
Home is in such shape, Belz, that if it wouldn't make a big killing in
the way of a legacy soon they would bust up sure."
"And that's all the reason why we should extend the mortgage on
Rudnik?" Belz demanded.
"That's all the reason," Lesengeld answered; "with three hundred and
fifty dollars a bonus."
"Then all I could say is," Belz declared, "we wouldn't do nothing of
the kind. What is three =hundred and fifty dollars a bonus in these
times, Lesengeld?"
"But the Home," Lesengeld protested.
"The Home should bust up," Belz cried. "What do I care about the Home?"
"_Aber_ the widders?" Lesengeld insisted. "If the Home busts up the
widders is thrown into the street. Ain't it?"
"What is that my fault, Lesengeld? Did I make 'em widders?"
"Sure, I know, Belz; _aber_ one or two of 'em ain't widders. One or two
of 'em is old maids and they would got to go and live back with their
relations. Especially"--he concluded with a twinkle in his
eye--"especially one of 'em by the name Blooma Duckman."
"Do you mean to told me," Belz faltered, "that them now--widders is in
the Bella Hirshkind Home?"
"For Indignant Females," Lesengeld added, "which Max Schindelberger is
president from it also."
Belz nodded and remained silent for at least five minutes.
"I'll tell you, Lesengeld," he said at last, "after all it's a hard
thing a woman should be left a widder."
"You bet your life it's a hard thing, Belz!" Lesengeld agreed
fervently. "Last week I seen it a woman she is kissing her husband
good-bye, and the baby also kisses him good-bye--decent, respectable,
hard-working people, understand me--and not two minutes later he gets
run down by a trollyer car. The next week they take away from her the
furniture, understand me, and she puts the baby into a day nursery, and
what happens after that I didn't wait to see at all. Cost me ten cents
yet in a drug store for some mathematic spirits of ammonia for Mrs.
Lesengeld--she carries on so terrible about it."
Belz sighed tremulously.
"All right, Lesengeld," he said; "write Rudnik we would extend the
mortgage and he should call here to-morrow."
* * * * *
"If I got to lose the house I got to lose it," Harris Rudnik declared
as he sat in B. Lesengeld's revolving chair on the following morning.
"I ain't got long to live anyhow."
He tucked his hands into his coat-pocket and glared balefully at
Schindelberger, who shrugged his shoulders.
"That's the way he is talking right along," he said. "Did you ever hear
the like? Mind you, it ain't that he's got anybody he should leave the
house to, Mr. Belz, but he ain't got no use for women."
"What d'ye mean, I ain't got no use for women?" Rudnik cried. "I got
just so much use for women as you got it, _aber_ not for a lot of women
which all their lives men make suckers of themselves working their
heads off they should keep 'em in luxury, understand me, and then the
men dies, y'understand, right away the widders is put in homes and
other men which ain't related to 'em at all must got to leave 'em their
hard-earned _Geld_, Mr. Belz, so they could sit with their hands folded
doing nothing."
"What are you talking nonsense doing nothing!" Schindelberger retorted.
"Them old women works like anything up there. I told you before a dozen
times, Rudnik, them women is making underwear and jelly and stockings
and _Gott weiss was noch_."
Rudnik turned appealingly to Belz.
"Mr. Belz," he said, "do me the favour and let me leave my money to a
_Talmud Torah oder_ a Free Loan Association."
"Free Loan Association!" Lesengeld and Belz exclaimed with one voice.
"An idee!" Belz shouted. "What d'ye take us for, Rudnik? You are going
too far."