to me that he knows for a positive fact that Felix Geigermann could have
sold that fiddle of his for three thousand five hundred dollars before
he even pays for it yet. Strauss says that Felix is all the time buying
up old fiddles for a side line, and if he makes a cent at it he makes a
couple thousand dollars a year. Furthermore, Abe, he says that if
anybody's got a genu-ine who's-this fiddle, he wouldn't let it go for no
hundred and twenty-five dollars, and the chances is you are paying a
fancy figure for a cheap popular-price line of fiddles."
Abe hung up his hat so violently that he nearly knocked a hole in the
crown.
"In the first place, Mawruss," he began, "it was your idee I should go
up there and get the fiddle back, and in the second place I am telling
you with my own eyes I seen that fiddle and it is the selfsame,
identical article--name, lot number and everything--which that feller
Geigermann refuses thirty-five hundred dollars for."
He scowled at his partner in anticipation of a cutting rejoinder.
"But anyhow, that ain't neither here nor there," he continued as Morris
remained silent. "We would quick find out for ourselves what the fiddle
really is, because to-morrow morning I am going around to the store and
Geigermann gives me the fiddle back."
Morris paused in the folding of a velvet skirt.
"I wouldn't do that, Abe, if I was you," he said. "What is the use
giving presents and taking 'em back again? You could make from a feller
an enemy for life that way."
"Sure, I know Mawruss. An enemy for life is one thing, Mawruss, but
thirty-five hundred dollars ain't to be sniffed at neither,
y'understand."
"_Schmooes_, Abe!" Morris cried. "The fiddle ain't worth even
thirty-five hundred pins."
Following this observation there ensued a controversy of over an hour's
duration, at the end of which Morris compromised.
"Say, listen here to me, Abe!" he declared. "You say the fiddle is worth
it and I say it ain't. Now if I am right and we take the fiddle back,
then we are acting like a couple of cheap yokels, ain't it? _Aber_ if
you are right, Abe, then we are out thirty-five hundred dollars. So
what's the use talking, Abe? Only one thing we got to do. We got to find
a feller which he could right away tell whether the fiddle is _oder_ not
is genu-ine--just by looking at it, y'understand. This feller we got to
send up to Geigermann's house to look at the fiddle to-night yet, and if
he says the fiddle is, Abe, then we would take it back. _Aber_ if he
says the fiddle ain't, Abe, then, Geigermann could keep the fiddle _und
fertig_."
Abe nodded slowly.
"The idee is all right, Mawruss," he said; "but in the first place,
Mawruss, where could we find such a feller, and in the second place, if
we did found him, Mawruss, what excuse would we give Geigermann for
sending him up there in the third place?"
Morris scratched his head.
"Well, for that matter, Abe, if we found such a feller, we could send
him up there to say that he hears from you that you are giving away such
a Who's-this fiddle to Geigermann, and that the feller would like to buy
it off of him."
"And then, Mawruss?" Abe asked.
"And then," Morris went on, "Geigermann shows the feller the fiddle,
y'understand, and if it is worth it _oder_ it isn't worth it the feller
says nothing to Geigermann, but he comes back and reports to us."
Abe nodded again.
"If I was to tell you all the weak points of that scheme, Mawruss," he
said, "I could stand here talking till my tongue dropped out yet. But
all I got to say is, Mawruss, the idee is yours, and you should go ahead
and carry it out. Me, I got nothing to say about it either one way or
the other."
* * * * *
At seven that evening, while Professor Ladislaw Wcelak was washing down
a late breakfast with a bottle of beer, there came a violent knocking at
the hall door. The professor answered it in person, for Aaron was busily
engaged over Concone's vocalizations in the front parlour and the other
members of the family were washing dishes in the rear.
"_Nu, Landsmann!_" Ladislaw cried. "Ain't you working to-night?"
The newcomer was none other than Emil Pilz, _Konzertmeister_ of the
Palace Theatre of Varieties, if that dignified term may be applied to
the first violin of an orchestra of twenty.
"I am and I ain't," Emil replied. "I've got a job, Louis, which it would
take me till nine o'clock, so be a good feller and substitute for me at
the theayters till I am coming back."
"And who would substitute for me, Emil?" the professor asked.
"That's all right," Emil replied. "I stopped in on my way over and I
seen old man Hubai. He ain't _shikker_ yet, so I told him he should go
over and fiddle a couple _czardas_ till you come, and to tell the boss
you got a _Magenweh_ and would be a little late. Me, I am going uptown
to look at a fiddle. I got the job through an old pupil, Milton Strauss,
which he says a feller by the name Potash gives away a fiddle which he
bought, and now he thinks it's a genuine Amati. So I should please go up
and look at it; and if it is _oder_ it isn't, I get ten dollars."
"Who's this feller Potash?" the professor asked, and Emil shrugged.
"What difference does that make?" he said. "He gives a hundred and
twenty-five dollars for the fiddle only a couple days ago. What d'ye
want to know for?"
"Oh, nothing," the professor replied; "only my brother Aaron sold to a
feller by the name Potash the other day a fiddle which I myself bought
from old Hubai a couple years ago for fifteen dollars yet; and if that's
the one you are talking about, Emil, you should quick go up to the
theayter and forget about it. Because, Emil, if that fiddle is an Amati,
you are a Kubelik and I am a Kreisler."
"Sure, I know, Louis," Emil agreed; "but just the same I got to go up
there to make the ten, so if you would do me the favour and _spiel_ for
me till half-past nine you could get anyhow three dollars of it."
"I am willing," the professor said; and ten minutes later he was on his
way up to the Palace Theatre of Varieties.
It was precisely half-past nine, while a tabloid drama in progress on
the stage rendered the presence of the orchestra unnecessary, that Emil
Pilz returned.
"_Nu_ Emil," Louis said as they stood in the corridor leading to the
stage entrance, "did you seen the Amati?"
He grinned in humorous anticipation of Emil's answer.
"Yes, I did seen it," Emil replied, "and it's a very elegant, grand
model."
"Sure," the professor said; "made in Bavaria with an ax."
"Don't you fool yourself, Louis," Emil retorted. "That's an elegant
instrument from Nicolo Amati's best period. If it's worth a cent it's
worth three thousand dollars."
"_Schmooes_, Emil!" Louis cried. "What are you trying to do?--kid me?"
"What d'ye mean, kid you?" Emil asked. "I should never stir from this
spot, Louis, if that ain't an Amati. It's got a tone like gold, Louis."
For a brief interval Louis stared at his informant.
"Do you mean to told me, Emil, that that fiddle is a real, genu-ine
Amati?"
"Listen here to me, Louis," Emil declared; "if I wouldn't be sure that
it was genu-ine why should I got such a heart that I would act that way
to that feller Potash? When--so sure as you are standing there,
Louis--when I told him it was a genu-ine Amati he pretty near got a fit
already; and as for his partner by the name Perlmutter, he hollered so I
thought he was going to spit blood already."
Louis licked his dry lips before making any reply.
"So, then, I am paying fifteen dollars for a fiddle which it is a
genu-ine Amati," he said, "and that brother of mine which he ain't got
no more sense as a lunatic lets it go for a song already."
"Well, I couldn't stop to talk to you now, Louis," Emil said. "I must
got to get on the job. I am going to be to-morrow morning, ten o'clock,
at this here Potash & Perlmutter's, and if you want to you could meet me
there with old man Hubai."
"Old man Hubai!" Louis cried. "What's he got to do with it?"
"He's got a whole lot to do with it, Louis," Emil said. "A feller like
him sells you a three-thousand-dollar violin for fifteen dollars which
he ain't got a penny in the world, y'understand, and I should stand by
and see him get done!"
Professor Wcelak hung his head and blushed.
"Also, Louis," Emil concluded, "I just rung him up at the café, and he
says whatever he gets out of it I get half."
* * * * *
When Morris Perlmutter arrived at Felix Geigermann's store the next
morning he showed the effects of a restless night and no breakfast; for
he had found it impossible either to eat or sleep until he had his hands
on the violin.
"Mr. Geigermann went out for a minute, Mr. Potash," a floorwalker
explained; "but he said I should show you right into his office, Mr.
Potash."
"My name ain't Potash," Morris replied, "that's my partner, which he
couldn't get up here on account he is sick."
"That's all right," the floorwalker said reassuringly. "Just step this
way."
He conducted Morris to Geigermann's office.
"Have a seat, Mr. Perlmutter," he said; but the words fell on deaf ears,
for as soon as he entered the room Morris descried the violin, which
rested on top of Geigermann's desk. He pounced on it immediately, and
turning it over in his hand he examined it with the minutest care. At
length he discerned the label inside the "eff" hole. It was curling away
from the wood and appeared to be ready to drop off, so that it was an
easy matter for Morris to impale it on his scarfpin. By dint of a little
scraping he managed to draw one edge of it through the "eff" hole and
the next moment he was examining the faded printing. Then he turned the
label over and in one corner he discovered an oval mark. Simultaneously
the door opened and Geigermann entered.
Morris thrust the label into his pocket and turned to Geigermann with an
amiable smile. Moreover, his pallor had given place to a pronounced
flush and he looked nearly five years younger than when he walked into
the store just ten minutes before.
"Hello, Felix!" he cried, holding out his hand. "How's the boy?"
"Fine," Felix said. "Where's Abe?"
"He couldn't get here on account he is sitting up late again last night,
and, of course, Felix, he is sick. But anyhow, Felix, I am glad he ain't
coming."
"Why so?" Felix asked.
"Because you never seen such a feller in your life, Felix," Morris went
on. "Always worrying and always kicking. First he gives you a fiddle,
then he wants to take it back again. With me it is different. What do I
care if the fiddle is or it ain't one of them genu-ine Who's This's?
Once you give a thing you give a thing, ain't it? And I don't care what
experts says nor nothing."
Felix Geigermann blushed. When Emil Pilz had called on him the night
before he had scented the object of the visit and had exhibited not
Abe's gift but the Karanyi Amati. He had no doubt that Pilz communicated
to Potash & Perlmutter the result of his call immediately after its
conclusion, and he felt touched and humbled by Morris's generous
behaviour.
"Morris," he said, "I did you a big injury. I didn't think you felt that
way about it; so when that expert called on me last night I didn't show
him Abe's fiddle at all--I showed him the other one, the
three-thousand-dollar fiddle."
Morris's grin became a trifle broader.
"That don't worry me none, Felix," he declared. "I am glad you should
keep the fiddle if it should be worth ten thousand dollars even. A gift
is a gift, Felix."
"That's very generous of you, Morris, I must say," Felix replied, "and I
would keep the violin. I would even do more, Morris. I was going to give
Klinger & Klein an order for some of their three-piece broadcloths, but
I changed my mind. I will give it to you instead; and if you would be in
this afternoon, Morris, I will go downtown and pick 'em out."
Once more Morris wrung his customer's hand. Before proceeding downtown,
he sought the nearest dairy restaurant and made tremendous inroads upon
its stock of eggs and coffee. It was almost ten o'clock before he
reached his place of business, and as he stepped out of the elevator he
was greeted by a roar of voices approximating the effect of a
well-managed mob scene in a capital-and-labour drama.
Old man Hubai stood in the middle of the showroom; and with clenched
fists waving in the air he appealed to heaven to witness that he was a
poor man and spoke nothing but the Hungarian tongue. Hence he was at the
mercy of such ruffians as Pilz and Wcelak, whose right name he averred
to be Kohn. Following this he swore by his mother that he had paid a
thousand kronen for the violin, and _da capo_ from the exposition of his
poverty. Simultaneously Professor Ladislaw Wcelak dwelt on the economic
aspect of the matter. In stentorian tones he declared Abe's purchase of
the violin to be another example of capital sitting upon the neck of
labour, and he prophesied the rapid approach of the Social Revolution,
with sundry references to bloodsuckers, cut-throats and Philistines.
Emil Pilz, Aaron, and Abe Potash himself added to the general din in a
three-cornered discussion of the legal points involved. Emil contended
that Aaron could replevin the violin upon the ground of Abe's
misrepresentation at the time of the purchase, and Abe denied it in
Yiddish and English, with emphatic profanity in both languages.
Into this mêlée Morris hurled himself with a resounding "_Koosh!_"
"Are you all crazy, _oder_ what?" he demanded.
"Well," Abe cried, "where is it?"
Instantly there was a dead silence and all eyes rested on Morris.
"Where's what?" Morris asked.
"The Amati!" Emil Pilz cried; and Morris laughed aloud.
"_Geh weg!_" he said. "You are an expert!"
Pilz shook his head in a bullying fashion.
"Never mind if I am an expert _oder_ not," he said. "Where is that Amati
which I seen it myself at Geigermann's house only last night?"
"It is at Geigermann's house to-day," Morris replied. "Right now it is
there and it would stay there too, young feller, because that fiddle
which you seen it is the one Geigermann paid three thousand dollars for.
You seen the wrong fiddle, that's all."
This statement seemed to rouse Aaron Shellak to hysterical frenzy.
"Liar and thief!" he screamed. "Give me my fiddle."
"One moment, Shellak," Morris said, "before you put on your hat and coat
and go home, which you shouldn't trouble yourself to come back at all. I
want to show you something."
He explored his waistcoat pocket.
"Ain't this the label which was in your fiddle?" he asked, handing Aaron
a slip of paper.
Aaron examined it carefully and nodded.
"That other crazy Indian over there," Morris continued, pointing to the
professor, "look at this label. Ain't it the same which was in the
fiddle?"
Ladislaw Wcelak examined the printed slip and he, too, nodded.
Next, Morris turned to old man Hubai, who stood apart muttering to
himself.
"Some one ask that old greenhorn if it's the same label that was in the
fiddle. I don't know what he's got to do with this business but he may
know, anyhow."
Wcelak interpreted Morris's words and showed the label to the old man,
who replied volubly in Hungarian.
"He says he thinks it is," the professor said, "but he doesn't know for
sure."
"Well, I know it is the same," Morris retorted, "because I took it out
there myself this morning."
Here Morris cleared his throat and assumed an air of such dignity, not
to say majesty, that to Abe, it seemed as though he had never rightly
known his partner until that moment.
"Now look on the other side of that label," Morris cried.
Once more the label went the rounds and after Emil Pilz had examined it
he put on his hat and made for the elevator. Almost on tiptoe Professor
Ladislaw Wcelak followed him, while Aaron repaired to the cutting room
and packed up his belongings, preparatory to forsaking a career as
cutter for one of music.
At length only old man Hubai remained.
"What are you waiting for?" Morris demanded.
"Me poor man," Hubai said. "Me no got carfare, me no got _Trinkgeld_, me
no got nothing."
Morris handed him a quarter and he shuffled off toward the backstairs.
Meantime Abe staggered to his feet and passed his hand over his
forehead.
"Tell me, Mawruss," he said, "what is all this about?"
"It's just what I says just now, Abe," Morris exploded. "That expert
seen the wrong fiddle. The fiddle you gave Geigermann is no more three
hundred years old than I am."
"Why ain't it?" Abe asked.
For answer Morris handed him the label. On the obverse side Abe read the
inscription:
Nicolaus Amati Cremonensis Faciebai Anno 1670.
"Now turn it over," Morris said; and Abe described on the reverse side a
familiar oval mark bearing the following inscription:
Allied Printers Trades Council, Union Label, New York City.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BROTHERS ALL
"What is the use talking, Mawruss?" Abe Potash protested. "The feller
couldn't even talk ten words English at all."
"Sure, I know," Morris Perlmutter admitted; "but he would quick learn."
"Quick learn!" Abe exclaimed. "What d'ye mean, quick learn? Nowadays I
never seen the like! A greenhorn comes over here from Russland which he
is such an iggeramus he don't know his own name, understand me; and he
expects right away to get a job in a cloak-and-suit concern uptown,
where they would learn him how he should talk English and at the same
time pay him ten dollars a week. Actually, Mawruss, them fellers thinks
they are doing you a favour if they ruin ten garments a day on you in
exchange for learning 'em English. Me, when I come over from Russland, I
was _oser_ so _grossartig_. I was glad to got a job learning on shirts
in a subcellar and the boss boards me for wages. I got an elegant bill
of fare, too, I bet yer, Mawruss. Every day for dinner is salt herring
and potatoes, except Sundays is onions extra. And did that feller learn
me English, Mawruss? _Oser_ a _stück_. I must got to go to night school
to learn English, Mawruss, and I did, Mawruss--and they learned me good
there, Mawruss; and so this here feller you are talking about should do
the same."
"We wouldn't got to learn him English, Abe," Morris declared. "The
feller is a bright, smart feller, and he could pick it up quick enough."
"Sure, I know," Abe rejoined; "and pick up a whole lot of other things,
too, Mawruss. Silks and velvets and buttons them fellers picks up."
"Not this feller, Abe," Morris said. "He is from decent, respectable
people in the old country. He is studying for a doctor already when he
comes over here, but he gets into trouble on account he belongs to a
politics society over there; so he must got to run away. The feller is a
bright feller, Abe."
"I know them bright fellers, Mawruss--sit up till all hours of the night
in Canal Street coffee houses killing off grand dukes. Grand dukes is
got to make a living the same like anybody else, Mawruss; and anyhow,
Mawruss, when a feller comes over here from Russland, Mawruss, he ain't
got no business bothering his head about grand dukes. The way things is
nowadays in the cloak-and-suit trade, Mawruss, a feller's got all he
could attend to holding on to his job."
Morris shrugged.
"Let's give the feller a show anyhow, Abe," he rejoined; "and if he
don't soon make good we could quick fire him, y 'understand."
"That's what you said about that feller Harkavy, which we give him a job
in our cutting room, Mawruss. All the time he works for us he acts so
_dumm_ like a ten-year-old child; and so soon as we fire him, Mawruss,
he goes to work by Kleiman & Elenbogen and turns out a couple of styles,
which the least them highwaymen makes out of 'em is five thousand
dollars."
"How should I know what Harkavy could do with Kleiman & Elenbogen, Abe?"
Morris cried. "You are the prophet of this here concern, Abe. Always you
are predicting to me to-morrow what is going to happen yesterday."
"Well, what's _vorbei_ is _vorbei_, Mawruss," Abe retorted; "and if I
would got to stand here all day and _schmooes_ with you, Mawruss, go
ahead and hire the feller. Only one thing I am saying to you, Mawruss:
Don't tell me afterward that I was in favour of the feller from the
start; because I ain't."
With this ultimatum, Abe glanced toward the cutting room, where sat a
tall, stooping figure, holding in his two hands a peaked cap.
"Only to look at the feller gives me a _krank_, Mawruss," Abe continued;
"so, if you are going to hire him, Mawruss, do me the favour and give
him a couple dollars out of the safe so he should get a shave and a
haircut and a new hat."
Morris nodded and started for the cutting room, when Abe called him
back.
"For my part, Mawruss, I don't care what people says, y'understand," he
declared; "but if we got a couple of them Thirty-fourth Street buyers
around here and they sees our workpeople is got such shoes which their
toes is sticking out already, Mawruss, what do they think of us? Am I
right or wrong?"
"Sure, I know," Morris said; "but----"
"But nothing, Mawruss," Abe concluded. "For three dollars we should make
suckers out of ourselves! Don't stand there like a fool, Mawruss. Give
the feller five dollars; he should buy himself a pair of shoes and
_fertig_."
The transformation begun in Cesar Kovalenko by a haircut and a shave was
made complete when Morris, accompanied by Kovalenko's cousin, went with
him to a retail clothing establishment. There Cesar discarded forever
his cap, top boots and frogged overcoat and emerged--but for his
vocabulary--a naturalized citizen of the cloak-and-suit trade.
"Now all he's got to do," Morris said, "is to work hard and he would
quick be making good wages."
"Sure, sure!" the cousin replied. "At first, maybe he would be a little
_dumm_ on account he is got a whole lot of experiences lately."
"Experiences?" Morris asked. "What for experiences?"
"Well, in the first place," the cousin proceeded, "two years ago he is
studying for a doctor in the University of Harkav, and next door to him
one house by the other lives a feller which I ain't got nothing to say
against him, y'understand, only he goes to work and sends a package to
the chief of police, Mr. Perlmutter, which when they open the package,
y'understand, inside is something g'fixed. Mind you, Mr. Perlmutter, I
wouldn't say nothing if it would be really the chief of police which
would open the package, but always it is some poor _Schnorrer_ which the
chief of police calls in from the street. This time it was a feller by
the name Levin, a decent, respectable, young feller--his father was a
_Rav_. The old man is coming over here this week, I understand, Mr.
Perlmutter--but when the chief of police sends out Levin in the backyard
he should open the package, understand me, that's the last any one sees
either from the package or either from Levin."
Morris clicked his tongue sympathetically.
"And what did they done to the feller which sends the package?" he
asked.
"Him, they didn't done nothing, Mr. Perlmutter," the cousin replied;
"but Cesar, here, they put it all on to him. First they are making him
arrested, and the police pretty near kill him and the Cossacks take him
from Harkav to Odessa he should get tried, and then they pretty near
kill him there; and if it wouldn't be that we are sending over to give
to a judge there a couple thousand rubles they would right away shoot
him. Anyhow, Mr. Perlmutter, one year my cousin sits in prison there;
and then we are sending over a couple thousand rubles more which we give
the feller what runs the prison, and so my cousin sneaks out of there
and he comes over here to this country."
Morris gazed at the neatly clad figure who walked quietly along beside
him.
"You wouldn't think it to look at him," he said; "but, anyhow, I would
do my best to see he gets a good show; and he would quick learn, I bet
yer."
By this time they had reached Potash & Perlmutter's premises and the
cousin shook hands warmly with Morris.
"You got a good heart, Mr. Perlmutter," he declared fervently; "and you
wouldn't lose money supposing you did pay him eight dollars a week to
start."
Morris paused before passing indoors.
"Listen here to me," he said. "Maybe I got a good heart and maybe I
ain't, but your cousin starts on five dollars a week, understand me; and
if he gets six dollars inside of a month he would got to earn it."
Despite this assertion, however, it was barely three weeks before Cesar
Kovalenko was earning and receiving eight dollars a week, for never in
their business experience had Abe and Morris employed a more intelligent
workman. Not only did he exhibit great promise as an assistant cutter
but he had acquired a knowledge of English sufficient for his needs.