ELIAS had enjoyed his dinner at the Kochs' very much. He had been
greatly amused by it; but he had derived from it, besides, a pleasure
that was deeper than mere amusement--the pleasure, namely, which comes
of contact with people whom we feel to be thoroughly good and wholesome.
“They, with their strident voices, and vulgar manners, and untutored
ways of thinking, are the sort of Jews that Gentiles judge the race
by,” he reflected. “It is a comfort to know that underneath all their
superficial roughness and unrefinement, the core is sound and sweet.”
It was with a sense of agreeable anticipation that, on the following
Thursday evening, he started out to pay his digestion visit.
The maid-servant showed him into the parlor, and went off to announce
him. Returning a moment later, she asked him to step down-stairs to the
basement. There he was very cordially welcomed; and Mr. Koch explained,
“I thought you'd rather join us down here, than have us come up to the
show-room. (That's my nick-name for the parlor; pretty good, hey?) Down
here it's more comfortable and homey.”
Mr. and Mrs. Blum smiled and swayed their heads at him; and Mrs. Koch,
clasping Lester to her bosom with one hand, offered him the other.
“We don't want to make company of you, Mr. Bacharach,” Mr. Koch went on;
“and so, after my wife has put Lester to bed, you must come around with
us to Winkum's. We're going to meet my brother-in-law and my sisters
around there.”
“I shall be very happy,” Elias responded. “But Winkum's--what is it? and
where?”
“Oh, Winkum's is Terrace Garden. I always call it Winkum's, because a
man named Winkum kept it when I first began to go there, years ago; and
I've never got used to calling it by its new name. Force of habit.”
Mrs. Koch passed Lester around, and everybody kissed him good-night.
Then she carried him from the room.
“Have a cigar?” asked Mr. Koch. “They're genuine--_Hoyo de Montereys_.”
Elias took a cigar.
Mr. and Mrs. Blum were whispering together, on the sofa, over in the
corner. He appeared to be urging her to do something, which she, with
blushes and modest smiles, was protesting against.
“Come,” cried Mr. Koch; “it ain't polite to whisper in company. What you
people conspiring about?”
“I want her,” Mr. Blum answered, “to offer Elias Bacharach some of her
cheese-cake; and she's too baishful. Elias Bacharach, my wife every now
and then, she make us a cheese-cake. You never taste any thing like it.
It's simply elegant. Vail, she make us one to-day; and I want her to
give you a bite of it, just to show what she can do. But she--she's just
exactly as baishful as she was the day we got married; and that's forty
years ago, already.”
“Oh, Mrs. Blum,” Elias pleaded, “I shall really feel very much offended,
if you don't let me taste it. There's nothing in the world I like so
well as cheese-cake. Please don't disappoint me.”
Blushing and giggling, the old lady got up, and said, “Ach, Gott! All
right,” and waddled from the room. Presently she waddled back, and
placed an enormous slice of cheese-cake, together with knife, fork, and
napkin, upon the table. Then she sat down, and crossed her hands upon
her stomach, and watched Elias as he ate. Between his mouthfuls, he kept
uttering ejaculations of delight and wonder: marvelous! delicious! never
tasted any thing equal to it in all my life! etc. She kept swaying
her head and smiling. At the end, he vowed that the cheese-cake was
a triumph of art, and confessed that antecedently he would not have
believed such excellence attainable. Her husband demanded, “Didn't I
tell you so?” The old lady herself was overcome, and could only gurgle,
“Gott! Du lieber, lieber Gott!”
By and by Mrs. Koch reappeared; and her husband called out, “Well, let's
start.”
At Terrace Garden they found Mr. and Mrs. Sternberg and Mrs. Morgenthau
seated at a round table under an ailanthus tree.
“Why, where's Tillie?” cried Mr. Koch.
“Oh, she had to stay at home to work,” her mother answered. “Preparing
for some lessons she has to give to-morrow.”
The electric-lamps flared and sizzled. The band played tunes from comic
operas. There were many people present, seated at similar tables, under
similar trees, eating, drinking, smoking, chatting, listening to the
music. Their countenances were mostly of the Semitic type. Every now and
then a new party entered, from the café adjoining: an old gentleman and
lady, a middle-aged gentleman and lady, and a troop of young folks of
both sexes: three generations. Your Jew loves to take his pleasure with
his family to share it. His boon companions are, as a rule, his father
and mother, his wife and children. The waiters dashed like meteors
hither and thither. One of them stopped before the table of our friends;
and Mr. Koch, having determined the sentiment of the meeting, ordered
“beers all around.”
“Vail,” observed Mr. Blum, “to drink dot beer, and hear dot music, and
breathe dot fresh air, dot's what I call solid comfort--hey?”
“Yes; and to see the people,” added Mr. Koch. “I don't know as there's
any thing that I enjoy better than I do to sit around here of a summer
night, and watch the people--see them arrive in squads, and then notice
their ways of enjoying themselves after they've got settled. It's quite
a study; and every now and then you catch a glimpse into a regular
romance. Now, Mr. Bacharach, you just take in that table over there.
Can't you imagine how that young fellow's heart is thumping, as he
whispers to her in that energetic manner? And see how she blushes, and
fidgets with her fan, and pretends not to like it. And the old folks,
her father and mother, of course--they sit placidly, with their backs
turned, and have no attention for any thing but the beer and the music.
I got a great mind to go up and nudge them. I have, as I'm alive.”
“Don't you do nothing of the kind!” cried Mrs. Koch, indignantly. “The
idea! How you like it if some busy-body come up, and nudge my papa, when
you was making loaf to me?”
“Well, now, what I admire about that couple,” pursued Mr. Koch, “is
their clever acting. They're trying hard not to give themselves away,
and not to let people see how sweet they feel. Unless a fellow watched
them mighty close, and had been there himself, he might really be
deceived by them, and think they were talking about nothing more
interesting than the weather. But you and me, Mr. Bacharach, we're
shrewd, and we know better. She's a daisy, and no mistake, ain't she?
And the young man--he looks like a respectable sort of a chap, too.
Well, I guess I _won't_ interfere. I guess I'll do as you say, Sarah. It
may be a desirable match. What's your advice, mother-inlaw?”
Mrs. Blum, quivering like a mass of jelly with suppressed mirth,
responded, “Ach, Gott! Go 'vay! You make me die!”
Mr. Blum, his face wreathed in smiles, exclaimed, “Washington, you got
more wit about you than any man I know. It's simply wonderful.”
It seemed as though the Kochs knew every body that came. At all events,
every body that passed their table stopped, and said how-d'ye-do,
shaking hands, and addressing Mr. Koch as Wash. His usual rejoinder was:
“First-class. How's yourself?”
“I'm sorry your daughter wasn't able to be here, Mrs. Morgenthau,” Elias
said.
“Oh, my daughter,” Mrs. Morgenthau returned, “she works like a horse.
You never saw such a worker. It's simply fearful. And such a _good_
girl, Mr. Bacharach. Only nineteen years old, and earns more than a
hundred dollars a month, and supports me and herself. Her uncle, my
brother over there, he's as generous with his money as if it was water;
and he gave Tillie a magnificent education. But she's bound to be
self-supporting, and hasn't cost him a cent for nearly a year. Of
course, he gives her elegant presents every once in awhile; but she pays
our expenses by her own work. She's grand. She's an angel.”
“You're right there,” putin Mr. Koch. “Tillie's all wool, from head to
foot.”
“And a yard vide,” added Mr. Blum.
“And such a brilliant musician,” said Elias.
“Musician?” echoed her mother. “Well, I should say so. You ought to hear
her play, when she really knuckles down to it. Why, you--you'd jump,
you'd get so excited. The other night she was only drumming--for fun. I
tell you what you do. You come around and call on us some evening, over
in Beekman Place. Then you'll hear her, the right way.”
“I shall be very happy to. It's very good of you to ask me.”
“Good? Oh, pshaw; don't mention it. Tillie 'll be delighted.
“We shall esteem it an honor to welcome you in our home, Mr. Bacharach,”
Mr. Sternberg said, with a stiffness which he mistook for courtliness. .
“Yes, come over, do,” added Mrs. Sternberg. “Come Sunday evening and
take supper with us.” Elias agreed to do so, with thanks.
“You folks come over, too,” said Mrs. Sternberg, addressing the Koch
contingent.
“You may count upon us,” replied Mr. Koch, “providing you'll have enough
to eat.”
At which sally there was a general laugh.
“What you all laughing at?” the wag proceeded. “I hope you don't think
I'm joking. I wouldn't want to come to supper with a family, if they
didn't have enough to go around.”
At this, the laughter was redoubled; and Mrs. Morgenthau demanded in a
whisper of Elias, “Ain't my brother immense?”
“There's either a ball or a wedding going on in there,” Mr. Koch
announced, pointing to the brightly-lighted windows of the hall, that
abuts upon the garden. “Hear that music? It's a string-orchestra,
playing dance tunes. Running a race with our band here. Wonder which
will come in first.”
Pretty soon the doors of the hall were thrown wide open; and a stream of
young people poured forth into the garden. The men wore dress-suits
and patent-leather pumps; the ladies, evening costumes, of red, white,
yellow, and other bright-hued silks. They took possession of the
unoccupied tables round about, and proceeded to make merry in a very
noisy and whole-souled manner.
“Yes, it's a wedding, sure enough,” said Mr. Koch; “and here comes the
bride.”
The bride, a buxom daughter of Israel, of twenty odd, attired in
canary-colored satin, escorted by her bridesmaids, and followed at a
respectful distance by the groom and his four best men, drew up to
the table nearest that of our friends, and called for beer and cheese;
which, when the waiter brought them, she attacked with a vigor and with
a directness that were charming to witness. Indeed, so interesting did
her immediate neighbors find the spectacle, that not a word was spoken
among them for a long while. They sat still, and watched her with
smitten eyes. At last, however, she called out to her husband: “Nun,
gut, mein Turteltâubchen; ich bin ganz satt und glücklich. Komm 'mal mit
mir, und noch ein wenig lass uns tanzen.” And then Mrs. Koch said that
she was sorry to break up a party, but she really thought she'd better
go home, as Laistair might have woke up, and he would be frightened if
his mamma wasn't there to put him back to shleep. This expression of
maternal solicitude produced its due effect; and, with many hearty
good-nights, the company departed upon their several ways.
*****
Sunday evening, Elias rang the Sternberg doorbell at six o'clock. The
Kochs and the Blums had already arrived; and they, with the host
and hostess and Mrs. Morgenthau and Tillie, were assembled in the
back-parlor, enjoying the view from the bay-window--up, down, and across
the river, and over the Long Island country on the other side. He got,
of course, a very effusive reception. Mr. Koch inquired what the good
word was. Miss Tillie said she was so glad to see him, and that it was
perfectly elegant of him to come. Mr. Sternberg mixed him a vermouth
cocktail, “to put an edge on his appetite.” And Mr. Blum declared, vail,
he was looking splendid.
“Supper's all ready,” proclaimed Mrs. Sternberg, and led the way to
the back-yard, where, protected by an awning, the table fairly groaned
beneath its burden of good things. “Say, Wash,” she called out to
her brother, “think there's enough?” Which proved that Mr. Koch's
witticisms were not speedily forgotten in his admiring circle.
Elias thought it exceedingly pleasant thus to feast in the open air,
while the sky and river glowed with the reflected splendor of the
sunset; and said so to Miss Tillie. She replied that it was simply
ideal, that they always did it in good weather, and that it was quite
the rage among the residents of Beekman Place. Beekman Place, she went
on, was the grandest street in the city, and she was awfully attached
to it. She'd lived there most all her life, and all the memories of her
childhood were associated with it. She remembered when she used to go
fishing, with a thread and a bent pin, off the docks below there, and
how scared her mamma used to get, lest she should tumble into the water,
and be drowned. She didn't know what she'd do--she knew she'd feel just
perfectly fearful, any how--when she had to leave, and dwell elsewhere,
as she supposed she would some day. Oh, no, they weren't thinking of
moving. She meant when she got married.
“Why,” exclaimed her interlocutor, “I didn't know you were engaged.”
“Well, I'm _not_ engaged. But I suppose I'll _get_ engaged before I die.
All girls do.”
But couldn't she persuade her husband to come and live in Beekman Place?
Well, that would depend a good deal upon what sort of a man he was. Most
men wouldn't want to come so far out of the way. She knew, when she was
at college, it used to take her pretty much all day going and coming,
and cost a regular fortune in car-fares.
College? The Normal College?
Yes. Class of '82. Salutatory.
Indeed! That was a great honor.
“Well, may be it was; but I didn't care a cent for it. I wanted to be
Valedictory. I worked hard for it, for four years; and when I didn't get
it, you can't imagine how horribly bad I felt.”
“Oh, yes; I can understand. It must have been very hard.”
“Florence Rosenbaum got it. She, and I, and an American girl named
Redwood, had been rivals ever since we were freshmen. Some years one
would lead, and some years another. But at the finish, Rosenbaum came
in first, and Redwood third, and I second. I'd just as soon have come
in last.”--Tillie paused; appeared puzzled; finally demanded, “Why, what
you looking so queer about?”
“Why, nothing. I didn't know I was looking queer.”
“I thought something was choking you, you got so red in the face.”
“Been down to the beach this season, Mr. Bach-arach?” broke in Mr. Koch,
having reference, presumably, to Coney Island. Elias replied in the
negative. “Well, then, I tell you what let's do,” Mr. Koch proceeded,
addressing the table at large; “let's make up a party to go down to the
beach some afternoon this week, hey?”
After a clamorous debate, it was decided that they should dine at the
beach on the following Wednesday evening, provided the elements were
favorable.
Supper over, they went up stairs, and sat in the dusk, smoking their
cigars, and looking out of the bay window, while Tillie played. “I'm
going to give you a Chopin evening,” she had said. Elias, stretched in a
great easy-chair, watching the moon float up red and swollen from behind
the castellated prison on Blackwell's Island, and listening to the
subtle, dreamy measures of the Berceuse, thought he had never before
experienced such restful and satisfying pleasure. It got dark. The moon
shrank and paled. A million diamonds sparkled upon the bosom of the
river. Along the opposite embankment, the street lamps gleamed like
fallen stars. A soft breeze, laden with the odors of lilac and wistaria,
stole in at the window. The music, sweet and solemn, thrilled the
darkness like the voice of a beautiful, sad, strange spirit. Suddenly it
died away. Somebody lighted the gas. There was an outbreak of talk and
laughter. The spell was broken. Elias started, got upon his feet, bade
his friends good-night, went home.