monkeying around while other young fellers is out on the road. Look at
Mortie Savin and all them boys."
"Sure, I know," Max rejoined. "They got heads on 'em. You couldn't add
up eight figures together, and at your age for a feller to write a hand
like that, Sidney----"
"What are you kicking about?" Sidney exclaimed. "When you was my age you
couldn't sign your name even."
"Well, that ain't here nor there, Sidney," Max replied as he pulled a
bill from the roll which he produced from his trousers pocket. "Here
is ten dollars and that's got to last you till Saturday night. D'ye
understand?"
Sidney grunted as he tucked the bill into his waistcoat. He had heard
the same ultimatum once a week for the past two years, and he whistled
cheerfully as he despatched one of the stock boys for a package of
cigarettes. An hour later he lunched at Hammersmith's, while Abe Potash
sat at an adjacent table. As he consumed a modest portion of
_rostbraten_, Abe noted with a disapproving eye the cherry-stone clams,
green-turtle soup and _filet Chateaubriand_ which formed the menu of the
Heir Apparent; and when the latter topped off his meal with half a pint
of dry champagne and a _café parfait_ Abe seized his hat and fairly ran
from the restaurant.
"If nobody would tell that feller Koblin what a lowlife bum he got it
for a son, Mawruss," he said as he entered the firm's private office ten
minutes later, "I will. Actually with my own eyes I seen it--the feller
eats for five dollars a lunch, and he ain't with a customer nor
nothing."
"What is it your business what Sidney Koblin is eating, Abe?" Morris
rejoined. "If you wouldn't notice every mouthful the feller puts in his
face at all you would be back here a whole lot sooner. There's a feller
waiting for you in the showroom over half an hour since."
"Who is he?" Abe asked.
"I think it's that Mr.--Who's this, from Seattle, which he was in here
last fall and nearly bought from us them polo coats? I couldn't tell his
face exactly, but you remember what a swell dresser that feller was."
Abe peered through the screen that divided the rooms.
"I think you're right, Mawruss," he said.
"I couldn't remember his name," Morris added, "and that's why I didn't
talk much to him. All I says was you would be in soon; and I give him a
cigar from the safe."
Abe nodded and walked hurriedly out of the office. As he approached his
caller he extended his right hand.
"How do you do?" he exclaimed, as he shook his visitor warmly by the hand.
"You're looking fine."
The visitor smiled in return.
"I thought you were going to tell me that," he replied.
"Yes, indeed! You're looking a whole lot better than the last time I
seen you," Abe said. "When did you get in?"
"I am here now going on half an hour already."
"Well, why didn't you talk to my partner?" Abe asked. "He could fix you
up just as well as me."
"I did talk to him," the newcomer replied, "but he is too stuck up to
talk to me at all."
"Stuck up!" Abe exclaimed, with a note of real anguish in his tones.
"Stuck up! Why, you don't know my partner at all, Mister--er--excuse me,
do you got a card?"
The stranger drew a card from his waistcoat pocket and with a proud
gesture handed it to Abe. It read as follows:
Z. KATZBERG I. SCHAPP
KATZBERG & SCHAPP
FINE PANTS
530 WEST WASHINGTON PLACE NEW YORK
"I am taking your advice, Mr. Potash," he said. "I am taking your advice
all round. I cut 'em off."
"You cut what off?" Abe asked.
"The whiskers, Mr. Potash. Also I am making short the name. In Russland
Shapolnik is all right, Mr. Potash; but if a feller wants to make a
success in business he should be a little up to date, ain't it?"
The cordial smile faded from Abe's face as he recognized his visitor.
"There's such a thing as being too much up to date, Shapolnik," he said.
"You ain't got no right to fool my partner like that. Me, you couldn't
fool for a minute. Right away I says to myself, 'Here is a feller
which he wants to ask us something we should do him for a favour.' So,
spit it out, Shapolnik. What is it you want from us?"
"Well, it's like this, Mr. Potash," Shapolnik began. "Me and my partner
we are wanting to take on somebody for a drummer, y'understand. We must
got it some one which he is already got a trade. _Aber_ he couldn't ask
for too much money at the start on account we are going slow. If you
know some young feller which he wants the job me and my partner would be
much obliged, Mr. Potash."
"What d'ye think we are running here anyway, Shapolnik," Abe
retorted--"an employment agency?"
"I am just taking chances might you would know somebody, maybe,"
Shapolnik murmured as he rose to his feet. He seemed much relieved at
Abe's refusal. "And I hope you don't think I am doing something out of
the way. You know, Mr. Potash, me and my partner we think a whole lot of
your judgment, and if you would give us an advice we are willing we
should follow it."
"Well, I ain't mad at you, Shapolnik," Abe said more mildly; "but all
the same, if you want to get a drummer you got a right to advertise for
one."
"We would do so," Shapolnik replied, "and if you would be in our
_Nachbarschaft_ oncet in a while, Mr. Potash, me and my partner would
consider it an honour if you are dropping in to see us. We only got a
small place, Mr. Potash." He paused and fingered the texture of his
waistcoat. "But everything will be up to date, Mr. Potash," he
concluded, "just like you advised us to."
Abe watched his late skirt-cutter disappear into the elevator, and then
he returned to the office where Morris impatiently awaited him.
"_Nu_, Abe," Morris cried as he entered.
"Yes, Mawruss," Abe said with cutting emphasis: "good cigars don't care
who smokes 'em. I suppose if Nathan, the shipping clerk, would come in
here with a collar and tie on and a clean shave, you would want to blow
him to a bottle of tchampanyer wine yet. Just because a feller shaves
off his beard and buys himself a new suit of clothes you couldn't
recognize him at all. That was Shapolnik which just went out of here."
"Shapolnik!" Morris exclaimed. "That dude was Shapolnik? Well, what d'ye
think for a crook like that!"
"Crooked Shapolnik ain't exactly," Abe interrupted; "but it should be a
lesson to you, Mawruss, that you wouldn't be so free with our cigars.
All the feller wants from us is we should recommend him a drummer."
"The nerve the feller got it!" Morris cried. "He comes around here
throwing bluffs he needs a drummer yet. A new beginner like him ain't
going to hire no drummer, Abe. I bet yer he takes his pants under his
arms and sees them Fourteenth Street buyers on his way downtown in the
morning. He ain't got no more use for a drummer than I got it for an
airship."
"My _tzuris_ if he has or he hasn't!" Abe exclaimed. "I anyhow told him
he should advertise for one, as we are not running an employment agency
here, Mawruss; and so, Mawruss, let's get busy on that order for
Griesman. I want to get away from here sure at five o'clock to-day. What
is the good I am staying down at Riesenberger's if I never get a show to
take oncet in a while a sea bath, maybe?"
Nevertheless it was ten minutes past five before Abe boarded a crosstown
car; and, although he made a wild sprint from the ferry landing on the
Long Island side, he arrived at the trainshed just in time to see the
rear platform of the five-forty-five for Arverne disappearing in a cloud
of black smoke.
He returned to the waiting room, and as he was sadly inspecting the
outer pages of the comic periodicals displayed in the news-stand a heavy
hand clapped him on the shoulder.
"Hello, Abe!" cried a hearty voice, and Abe turned to view the
perspiring features of Max Koblin, the Raincoat King. Abe returned the
salutation without much enthusiasm.
"Why ain't you going down in the oitermobile, Max?" he asked.
"Millionaires ain't got no excuse for missing trains like ordinary
people."
Max laughed in an embarrassed fashion.
"Millionaires is got their troubles too, Abe," he said. "Even when they
ain't millionaires."
"I should have your trouble!" Abe commented.
"I got enough, Abe, believe me," Max rejoined. "Everything I got to look
after myself. My credit man leaves me next week; and I got other worries
besides that one, too."
"Sure, I know," Abe said as they started for the smoker of the six-ten;
"and the biggest one you got only yourself to blame for it."
"What d'ye mean, Abe?" Max asked.
"I mean this, Max," Abe declared. "I am knowing you now since twenty
years already, and if I am butting in you could know it ain't because I
am fresh, y'understand, but because I got your interests at heart. That
boy of yours goes too far, Max."
Max drew a cigar from his waistcoat pocket and carefully bit off the
end. "How so?" he inquired.
"Well, in a whole lot of ways, Max," Abe continued, after they were
seated; "and mind you, I know it ain't none of my business, Max, but
when I see that boy come into Hammersmith's to-day and eat for five
dollars a lunch, with a bottle of tchampanyer wine yet, Max, I couldn't
help myself. I got to say something."
Max scowled and spat out the end of his cigar.
"Of course, Max," Abe added, using his partner's metaphor, "it ain't
no skin off my nose, y'understand."
"Ain't it?" Max growled as he turned on Abe with a menacing glare.
"Well, it's a wonder it ain't, the way you are sticking it into other
people's business. If you think I care what you think about what my boy
eats for his lunch you are making a big mistake. I could take care of my
own boy, Potash, and I am just as much obliged if you would do the
same."
Abe flushed a fiery red and rose to his feet.
"I guess I would go into the next car," he said.
"You could go a whole lot farther for all I care!" Max retorted, and
immediately buried his head between the open pages of a conservative
evening paper.
Abe had not offended in vain, however, for after dinner that night, when
Sidney sought his father in the Koblins' suite at Riesenberger's
cottage, the King was in an ugly mood.
"Say, Pop," Sidney began, "how about you for twenty till Saturday
night?"
"What d'ye mean?" Max bellowed. "Ain't I given you ten dollars only this
morning?"
Sidney laughed uncomfortably. "Ain't you the old tightwad!" he said.
Max's reply to this observation was quite unprecedented in all Sidney's
experience. It took the form of an open-handed blow on the cheek, the
first ever administered by his indulgent parent since Sidney's
infancy. Forthwith began a family row that brought the entire
household--guests, servants and proprietress--on the run to the Koblin
apartments. When Mrs. Koblin's frightened screams had ceased, and Max
Koblin had calmed down sufficiently to offer an evasive explanation, the
guests trooped back to the piazza, and three games of auction pinocle,
which had started in the dining-room after the tables had been cleared,
came to an abrupt close. Instead, the players foregathered with the
other guests in the porch rockers.
There they discussed the incident until nearly midnight; and, as no one
had been an eyewitness of the affray, there were as many versions of it
as may be mathematically demonstrated where one blow is struck among
three persons. Some had it that Sidney had attacked his father and
others that Mrs. Koblin had assaulted Sidney, but a large feminine
majority favoured a construction of the matter as one of wife-beating.
Abe alone correctly surmised the turn that Sidney's affairs had taken
and he sat on the piazza in conscience-stricken solitude long after all
the other guests had retired.
He blamed himself for the entire affair and he smoked cigar after cigar
before he sought his bed. As he walked up the broad staircase he met Max
Koblin at the first landing.
"Max," he said, "where are you going this time of night?"
Max stopped short. His eyes blazed in a face so careworn and haggard
that, to Abe, he seemed to have aged ten years since their meeting that
afternoon.
"This is what comes of your butting in!" Max cried bitterly. "The boy
went out right after we had the fuss and he ain't come back."
He paused to choke down a hysterical lump in his throat.
"And God knows what's become of him!" he sobbed as he continued down the
stairs.
* * * * *
Abe tossed on his pillow all night; and when at breakfast he learned
that Sidney Koblin had not returned, he swallowed with difficulty a cup
of coffee and left a steak, two eggs and a plate of French-fried
potatoes entirely untasted. Thus he was enabled to catch the seven-five
instead of the seven-thirty train. When he found himself at the
Thirty-fourth Street Ferry with almost half an hour to spare he
determined to walk to the store.
He trudged across Thirty-fourth Street with his hands in his pockets and
his head bent toward the pavement, a prey to the most bitter
reflections; and as he turned the corner of Fifth Avenue he failed to
notice, walking in the opposite direction, a tall youth, well dressed
save for soiled linen. The latter's eyes showed traces of unmistakable
tears; and as they, too, were bent upon the pavement there ensued a
violent collision, which almost threw Abe off his feet.
"Why don't you look where you're going?" he began, and then he
recognized the object of his wrath. "Sidney!" he yelled, clutching young
Koblin's shoulder. "Where are you going?"
"Let me alone," Sidney cried as he sought to free himself.
"_Aber_, Sidney," Abe pleaded, "you mustn't act so strange with me. Did
you got any breakfast yet?"
Sidney shook his head sullenly.
"Me neither," Abe cried. "Come on over to the Waldorf."
Five minutes later they sat at a table in the palm room, while Abe
ordered two whole portions of grapefruit, a double portion of tenderloin
steak, soufflé potatoes, coffee, waffles and honey.
"Now, listen to me, Sidney," he began. "You shouldn't got mad at your
father just because he licks you oncet, y'understand. My poor father,
_selig_, he knocks the face off of me regular twicet a week, and I ain't
none the worser for it."
Sidney hung his head and made no reply.
"Furthermore, Sidney," Abe went on, "if you are broke why don't you say
so?"
He pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket and handed Sidney twenty
dollars.
"Just a loan for a few days, y'understand," he said as the waiter
brought in a loaded tray, "or a year--what's the difference--ain't it?
Now, let's get busy."
Together they polished off the entire trayful of food, and when Abe
leaned back the waiter presented a check for ten dollars and eighty
cents.
"Cheap at the price," Abe remarked as he added a generous tip to the
amount of the bill. "And now, Sidney, I suppose you're going back to the
store?"
"No, I ain't," Sidney said. "I ain't doing no good down there; so what's
the use? The old man won't let me do nothing down there and they all
think I'm a joke."
"Well, you see, Sidney," Abe commented, "that's the way it goes. It's an
old saying, but a true one: 'There's no profit for a feller in his own
country.'"
"And what's more," Sidney continued, "they ain't given me a chance
neither. What I want to do is to sell goods on the road."
"Sure, I know," Abe interrupted. "Every young feller wants to go on the
road. All they can see in it is riding in parlour cars and playing
auction pinocle in four-dollar-a-day hotels. Believe me, Sidney, selling
goods on the road, when you been at it so long as I am, is a dawg's
life; and as for auction pinocle that's poison for a salesman."
"Auction pinocle is nothing to me," Sidney declared. "I swore off."
"Another thing is lunches, Sidney," Abe went on. "Ain't it a funny thing
what a lot of satisfaction it is when you are eating zwieback and a
cup of coffee for lunch? In the first place, all it is costing you is
ten cents and you feel like a prince. Many a big bill of goods I sold on
zwieback and coffee, Sidney--crackers and milk, too. And now, Sidney,
the best thing you could do is to go back and tell the old man you are
through with auction pinocle and high-price lunches, and you want him he
should give you a show you should sell goods."
Again Sidney shook his head.
"It ain't no use, Mr. Potash," Sidney declared. "Pop ain't got no
confidence in me. If I was a greenhorn fresh from the old country he
might let me start in and do something, but----"
At the word greenhorn Abe Potash leaned forward and struck the table
with his open hand.
"By jiminy, Sidney!" he cried, "I know the very job for you. Only one
thing I must got to say to you, Sidney: you would got to commence small;
so if what you are saying about auction pinocle and other monkey
business goes, Sidney, all right. Otherwise the thing is off."
"Sure, it goes, Mr. Potash," Sidney cried.
Abe looked the Heir Apparent squarely in the eye for two minutes and
then he struck the table again.
"I believe you, Sidney," he said, "and we will right away take the car
down to West Washington Place."
Katzberg & Schapp occupied the top floor of an old private house; but
what their place of business lacked in size it made up in activity.
Pressing irons were sizzling and banging and sewing machines were
burring loudly as Abe and Sidney climbed the stairs. When they entered,
Shapolnik, the butterfly of fashion, had once more assumed the chrysalis
of his working clothes.
"How do you do, Mister Potash?" he cried, all in one breath. "Excuse me;
I am looking like a slob. We are busy like dawgs here. Katzberg!" he
yelled; "_Kimmen Sie hieran_."
In response, a stout figure, clad only in an undershirt, trousers and a
pair of carpet slippers, laid down a pressing iron and shuffled toward
the visitors.
"My partner, Mister Katzberg," Shapolnik announced. "He also looks a
slob, Mr. Potash; but when we are getting partitions in, and our office
fixed up, no one would see him at all. He is the inside man; and me, I
am in the office and showroom. We're going to have a showroom so soon as
we are settled--a safe too. A telephone we already got it. This is Mr.
Potash, Katzberg, and the other gentleman I don't know at all."
"Mr. Koblin," Abe explained; "he is coming to work by you as a
salesman."
"A salesman!" Katzberg exclaimed. "Why, we don't want no----"
Shapolnik turned on him with a glare.
"Katzberg," he said, "them samples you are working on we got to show the
Magnet Store this afternoon yet."
Katzberg shrugged his shoulders and returned to his pressing, while
Shapolnik drew forward two rickety chairs and a packing-box.
"Have a seat, Mr. Potash; and Mr. Cohen, too," he said.
"Koblin," Abe corrected.
"Koblin," Shapolnik repeated. "Excuse me."
He went to a closet in the corner, and unlocking it he exposed the
fashionable suit that he had worn at Potash & Perlmutter's the previous
afternoon. From the right-hand waistcoat pocket he took a red-banded
invincible and handed it to Abe.
"Have a smoke, Mr. Potash?" he said. Abe examined the cigar closely and
tucked it carefully away. Then he produced three panatelas, handed one
each to Sidney and Shapolnik and lit the other himself.
"About this here salesman, Mr. Potash," Shapolnik commented. "I think I
changed my mind."
Abe blew a great cloud of smoke before replying and then he placed an
emphatic forefinger upon Shapolnik's knee.
"A new beginner when he throws bluffs, Shapolnik," he said, "must got to
make good. You told me yesterday you wanted a salesman and I am bringing
him to you."
Shapolnik blushed.
"Sure, I know I told it you, Mr. Potash," he said, "but my partner
thinks otherwise."
Abe nodded.
"The only use some people got for a partner, Shapolnik," he commented,
"is they could always blame him for everything they do; but even if you
did come in my place just to show me what an elegant suit of clothes and
a fine clean shave you got it, Shapolnik, I am bringing you a salesman
anyhow."
Katzberg at this juncture again laid down his pressing iron and came
forward.
"Say, lookyhere, what is the use talking?" he cried. "We don't need a
salesman; and that's all there is to it."
"'S enough, Katzberg," Abe shouted. "You got a whole lot too much to say
for yourself for a new beginner. I ain't saying you need a salesman,
Katzberg; I am only saying that you are going to hire one, Katzberg. And
after you hire one you will quick need him."
Abe placed his hand on Sidney's shoulder.
"Here is a young feller which he ain't going to gamble _oder_ fool away
his time. He is going to sell goods," he declared. "He works for years
by the biggest raincoat house in the country, and he's got an
acquaintance among the retail clothing trade which it is easy worth to
you twenty-five dollars a week and the regular commissions."
"But we couldn't afford to pay no salesman twenty-five dollars a week,"
Shapolnik exclaimed.
"Try me just one week," Sidney said, "and I'll bring in enough cash to
pay my salary."
"I forgot to say," Abe interrupted, "that he's also got a lot of
confidence in himself."
"Maybe I have," Sidney retorted: "but I'm going to make good."
"Certainly you are," Abe added, rising from his chair; "and now,
Katzberg, the whole thing is settled."
Katzberg shrugged and extended one palm outward in a gesture of despair.
"Seemingly we are not our own bosses here," he said.
"Seemingly not," Abe rejoined; "but, just the same, if you will take on
this young feller for a salesman I would give you a guaran_tirt_ that I
will make good all you would lose on him for the first three months. Is
my word good enough?"
"Sure, it is!" Shapolnik cried. "When would you come to work by us, Mr.
Koblin?"
"This morning," Abe answered for Sidney--"right now; and one thing I
must got to say to you, Sidney, before I go: stand in your own shoes and
don't try to excuse yourself, on account you got a rich father. Also, if
the old man makes you an offer you should come back to him, turn it
down. Take it from me, Sidney, you got a big future here."
With a parting handshake all around Abe started back to his place of
business. Five minutes later he boarded a Broadway car, and when he
alighted at Nineteenth Street he picked his way through a jam of
vehicles, which completely blocked that narrow thoroughfare. As he was
about to set foot on the sidewalk he caught sight of the gray, drawn
countenance of the Raincoat King, who sat beside his chauffeur on the
front seat of a touring car.
"Say, Max," Abe cried, "I want to speak to you a few words something."
Max Koblin turned his head and recognized Abe with a start.
"What d'ye want from me?" he said huskily.
"I want to tell you the boy is all right," Abe replied.
The colour surged to Max's face and he leaped wildly from the
automobile.
"What d'ye mean, all right?" he gasped.
"I mean all right in every way, Max," Abe answered; "and if you would
step into Hammersmith's for a minute I'll tell you all about it."
"Where is he?" Max cried.
Abe led the way to a table.
"He's where he should have been _schon_ long since already," he said as
they sat down. "He's got a job and he's going to make good on it."
"What are you talking nonsense?" Max exploded. "Where is my Sidney? His
mother is pretty near crazy."
"She shouldn't worry," Abe replied calmly. "The boy is coming home
to-night; and if I would be you, Max, I would see to it he pays anyhow
eight dollars a week board."
Once more Max grew white--with anger this time.
"Jokes you are making with me!" he bellowed. "Tell me where my boy is
quick or I'll----"
"_Koosh_, Max!" Abe interrupted. "You are making a fool of yourself. I
ain't hiding your boy. Just listen a few minutes and I'll tell you all
about it."
Forthwith he unfolded to Max a vivid narrative of that morning's
adventures; when he concluded Max had grown somewhat calmer.
"But, Potash," he protested, "I don't want the boy he should work by
somebody else. Let him come and sell goods by me."
"He couldn't do it and you couldn't neither, Max," Abe said. "If he goes
back to you, Max, you couldn't change over the way you've been treating
that boy ever since he was born, and he sure would go back to the way he
has been acting. Let the boy stay where he is, Max."
"Say, lookyhere, Potash," Max burst out, "what are you butting into my
affairs for? Ain't I competent to manage my own son?"
Abe deemed it the part of friendship to remain silent, but Max
misconstrued his reticence.
"O-o-h!" he exclaimed. "I see the whole business now. You got an
interest in this here pants factory and so you practically kidnap my
son. Do you know what I think? I think you are trying to jolly me into
letting him stay there because you expect maybe I would invest some
money in the business."