the well-stocked shelves in the rear of the store Morris discerned for
the first time the presence of another customer.
"How much did you say that there coffee samovar was?" cried a familiar
voice.
"I told you before, Mr. Klinger," Flachs said, "that ain't no samovar.
That's a perculater and it cost me, so sure as I am standing here,
fifteen dollars, so I would let you have it for twelve-fifty on account
its being shopworn."
"Take ten dollars and make an end," rejoined Klinger, tendering a bill.
"For ten dollars I could give you a fine piece cut glass, Mr. Klinger,"
Flachs insisted.
By way of answer Klinger tucked away the ten-dollar bill he had taken
from his waistcoat pocket, and Flachs seized the coffee percolator with
both hands.
"I'll wrap it up for you right away," he said, and then it was that
Klinger recognized Morris, who had been standing unnoticed in the
background.
"Hello, Perlmutter!" he said; "what are you doing here?"
"I guess I am doing the same what you are doing, Klinger," Morris
replied stiffly. "I am buying for a customer a present. Ain't it?"
Klinger nodded.
"Honestly, Perlmutter," he said, "I never seen the like how things
happen. No sooner you start to sell goods to a feller than somebody is
engaged _oder_ married in his family."
"He must be a pretty good customer the way you are blowing yourself,"
Morris commented.
"I bet yer!" Klinger said as he walked away; "and if you would be in our
place you would do the same."
For five minutes Morris examined the cut glass, and when Flachs returned
he had decided upon an olive dish of most intricate design. "That's a
close buyer, that Mr. Klinger," Flachs observed.
"Not near so close as I am," Morris declared.
"Well, you wouldn't anyhow kick on paying twenty-five cents express, Mr.
Perlmutter," Flachs said, "but that feller actually wants me to deliver
the package for nothing."
"Why not?" Morris asked. "Don't everybody deliver packages free?"
"Not a pawnbroker's-sales store," Flachs replied; "and anyhow, Mr.
Perlmutter, Leon Sammet this morning buys from me for thirty dollars
silver to be sent to the same place on One Hundred and Eighteenth Street
as that there perculater, and he didn't kick only a little that I am
charging him fifty cents express."
"What!" Morris exclaimed. "Is Klinger sending that perculater up to One
Hundred and Eighteenth Street too?"
"That's what I said," Flachs answered, and Morris replaced the cut-glass
dish on the shelf.
"Was the name Gladstein?" he inquired, and Flachs nodded.
"Then in that case," Morris said savagely, "let me look at some sterling
silver for about twenty-five dollars. If them suckers could stand it, so
can I."
* * * * *
More than two days had elapsed before Abe had exhausted the topic of
Mrs. Gladstein's ten-dollar engagement present. He discussed it
satirically, profanely and earnestly, from the standpoint of business
ethics, in such maddening reiterations that Morris could not help
wondering how much longer Abe's criticism would have continued had he
known that the cold-meat tray really cost twenty-five dollars.
"You are throwing away good money after bad, Mawruss," Abe said,
renewing the subject after an interval of comparative calm, "because, so
sure as you are standing there, we would never get our two hundred and
fifty out of that feller Gurin."
"What has Mrs. Gladstein's present got to do with Gurin?" Morris asked.
"If I told you once, Abe, in the last two days, I am telling you a dozen
times, understand me, I am giving that there cold-meat tray to Mrs.
Gladstein as a speculation, Abe. What difference does it make who she
marries, Abe, Gurin _oder_ Asimof, so long as we could land from her an
order for five hundred dollars?"
"Yow! You would land from her an order for five hundred dollars!" Abe
exclaimed.
"Well, if Sol Klinger could do it, why couldn't we?" Morris asked.
"What are you talking about Sol Klinger?" Abe demanded.
Thereupon Morris related to Abe the circumstances surrounding Sol
Klinger's purchase of the coffee percolator, and when he concluded Abe
nodded slowly.
"So that highwayman is butting in too," he commented. "How much did you
say he is paying for that samovar, Mawruss?"
Morris closed his eyes as though he were making a conscientious effort
to remember the exact amount.
"Thirty dollars," he announced at last.
"What!" Abe cried. "You stood there and let Sol Klinger buy for thirty
dollars a present and we ourselves only spend ten? What for a piker are
you anyway, Mawruss?"
"What do you mean, what for a piker am I?" Morris said indignantly. "You
are talking me black in the face on account I am spending ten dollars
and now you are kicking I didn't spend thirty."
"Did you tell me before that Sol Klinger buys a present?" Abe asked.
"And furthermore, Mawruss, this wouldn't be the first time we are
spending money to get business. Couldn't we afford to lay out thirty
dollars if we want to?"
"But, Abe----" Morris began.
"But nothing!" Abe roared. "Why should you get all of a sudden so
_sparsam mit_ our money, Mawruss? You talk like we would be new
beginners on East Broadway already."
"But, Abe----" Morris protested again.
"'S enough, Mawruss," Abe interrupted. "I heard enough from you already.
Only one thing I got to tell you: if we lose a chance of getting some
business from a lady which you could really say I know her well enough
that it's a shame we ain't sold her nothing already even, don't blame
me. That's all I got to say."
He walked away to the cutting room, while Morris sat down in the nearest
chair, dazed to the point of temporary aphasia. For five minutes he sat
still, endeavouring to trace the intricacies of a discussion that had
put him so decisively in the wrong, and he was still pondering the
matter when the elevator door opened and B. Gurin alighted.
"How do you do, Mr. Perlmutter?" Gurin cried.
Morris grunted inarticulately and made no attempt to take his visitor's
proffered hand.
"Did you got any news for me?" Gurin asked.
Morris rose to his feet.
"Yes, I got some news for you," he said. "I got news for you that Mrs.
Gladstein is engaged to be married to a feller by the name Asimof."
He looked absently at a sample rack upon which reposed the very
newspaper that contained the advertisement.
"Here it is," he continued, as he seized the paper. "You could see for
yourself."
He handed the advertisement to Gurin, who read it over unmoved.
"Well, I must tell you the honest truth, Mr. Perlmutter," he said. "I
couldn't say I am sorry." And he smiled amiably.
As Morris gazed at the fashion-plate features and the fashion-plate
apparel of his visitor, he entirely forgot his optimistic scheme of
supplanting Asimof with Gurin and he grew suddenly livid with a fierce
rage.
"You ain't, ain't you?" he bellowed. "Well, you ought to be, because so
sure as you are standing there, comes Monday morning and we don't get a
check from you, we would close you up sure, y'understand."
"Now, lookyhere, Mr. Perlmutter--" Gurin began, but the reaction set up
by Morris's encounter with his partner had begun to have its effect and
he seized Gurin by one padded shoulder.
"Out!" he roared. "Out of my place, you rotten, cheap dude, you!"
And two minutes later B. Gurin fled wildly down the stairs, the
newspaper still clutched in his hand.
* * * * *
Although Leon Sammet had at first been actuated by motives of a somewhat
sordid nature in his negotiation of Mrs. Gladstein's betrothal, his
subsequent behaviour was tempered by the traditional hospitality of his
race. As for his mother, Mrs. Leah Sammet, she entered upon the
preparations for the reception with an ardour that could not have been
exceeded had Mrs. Gladstein been her own daughter. Thus, when Sunday
afternoon arrived, Mrs. Sammet's house on One Hundred and Eighteenth
Street presented an appearance of unusual festivity. The long, narrow
parlor had been liberally draped with smilax and sparingly decorated
with ex-table-d'hôte roses, until it resembled the mortuary chapel of a
Mulberry Street undertaker; and this effect was, if anything, heightened
by four dozen camp-chairs that had been procured from the sexton of Mrs.
Sammet's place of worship.
A fine odour of cooking ascended from the basement kitchen, and when
Jacob Asimof had entered the front door at the behest of a coloured man
with white gloves he sniffed the fragrant atmosphere of the lobby like a
coon dog at the base of a hollow tree.
"Am I the first here?" he asked Barney Sammet, the junior partner of
Sammet Brothers, who had been detailed by his elder brother to receive
the arriving guests, with strict injunction to keep an eye on the
cigars.
Barney nodded gloomily.
"And ain't Mrs. Gladstein--I mean Sonia--come yet?" Jacob inquired.
"We just now got a telephone from her, the train from Bridgetown is late
and she would be here in half an hour," Barney replied.
"That's a fine lookout," Asimof commented. "I bet yer by that time we
would got a big crowd here."
The words were prophetic, for the shuffling of many feet on the front
stoop preluded the arrival of Sol Klinger, Mrs. Klinger, Moe Klein and
Mrs. Klein, who were immediately succeeded by the firm of Kleiman &
Elenbogen, H. Rashkin, the coat-pad manufacturer, and Marks Pasinsky.
It must be conceded that Leon Sammet comported himself in a highly
creditable manner, and he greeted his guests with a cordiality that
embraced competitor and customer in one impartial, comprehensive smile.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Klinger?" he exclaimed, and then he turned to
Mrs. Leah Sammet, who stood beside him. "Mommer," he said, "I want you
to know Mr. Klinger. Him and me has been competitors for twenty years
already."
Mrs. Sammet nodded and smiled.
"For my part twenty years longer," she murmured, as she grasped Sol's
hand.
"At a time like this, Mrs. Sammet," Sol rejoined, "it don't make no
difference to me if a man is ever so much a competitor; what I claim is,
let a sleeping dawg alone."
Mrs. Sammet indorsed the sentiment with another smile, and Sol with his
retinue passed on into the back parlour for the purpose of inspecting
the presents. In the meantime other guests had preceded them, and among
them was a man whose bearing and raiment proclaimed the creature of
fashion. Not only were his trousers of the latest narrow design, but
they were of sufficient modish brevity half to conceal and half to
reveal a pair of gossamer silk socks, which in their turn were incased
by patent-leather, low-cut shoes. The latter exhibited the square
knobbiness that only fashion artists can impart to the footgear of their
models, while the broad laces that held them by the insecure hold of two
eyelets were knotted in a bow that might have been appended to the
collar of Mr. Paderewski himself.
"Ain't this Mr. Gurin?" Sol Klinger asked, and the creature of fashion
nodded.
"You're a friend of the _Kahlo_, ain't it?" Klinger commented, employing
the vernacular equivalent for the English word "bride."
"In a way," Gurin said evasively; "_aber_ the _Khosan_ I don't know at
all."
Thus did Gurin imply that he was not acquainted with the future
bridegroom, and Klinger volunteered the information that Asimof ran a
dry-goods store in Dotyville, Pennsylvania.
"I sold him goods for years," he added, "and I guess I would continue to
do so, even if that Ganef Sammet would make twenty engagement parties
for 'em. Did you see the samovar I gave 'em?"
He pointed proudly to a silver-plated object, and Gurin glanced at it
scornfully.
"Potash & Perlmutter gives 'em solid silver," he commented--"a wide
dish."
"Sure I know," Klinger said, "thin like paper."
"_Aber_ sterling," Gurin insisted, and Klinger made a telling diversion.
"I suppose you sent 'em something sterling also," he said.
"Me?" Gurin exclaimed. "Why should I buy presents? I am a retailer
myself, Mr. Klinger, so I sent 'em some flowers."
"I don't see 'em nowhere," Sol retorted.
"They're over there," B. Gurin said, making a sweeping gesture in the
general direction of the mantelpiece, and as he did so a bass voice
sounded at his elbow.
"Put out my eye why don't you?" cried Abe Potash, and then he recognized
his assailant.
"Say, what are you doing here?" he demanded.
B. Gurin looked coldly at his creditor and shrugged his shoulders.
"I got just so much right to be here as you," he said, "and that partner
of yours too."
He hurled this defiance at Morris, who had entered the room on Abe's
heels; but the retort passed unnoticed so far as Morris was concerned,
since he was absorbed in the contemplation of the presents.
"Well, Klinger," he said, "you are making Mrs. Gladstein a pretty fine
present, ain't it?"
Klinger scowled.
"Mrs. Gladstein I ain't bothering my head about at all," he replied.
"But when a cut-throat like Sammet makes out a scheme to steal away from
me an old customer like Asimof I got to protect myself."
Morris whistled expressively.
"So you are making the present to Asimof?" he commented.
"Sure, I am," Sol answered. "As for Mrs. Gladstein, she got presents
enough from me. The first time she was married I am sending money to the
old country to my father he should make her a present on account Mrs.
Gladstein's father is my father's a third cousin, understand me. And
when she marries Gladstein, y'understand, I give her both an engagement
and a wedding present both. And do you think that sucker, _olav
hasholom_, ever buys from me a dollar's worth goods? _Oser_ a _Stück_."
"And you say Mrs. Gladstein was twicet married?" Morris asked.
"Ain't I just telling you so?" Sol replied.
"What was her first husband's name?" Morris asked; but the question
remained unanswered, for at that very moment a confusion of noises in
the front parlour signalled the arrival of the bride.
Morris and Sol followed the other guests from the rear parlour, and then
it was that Morris discerned his partner's appreciative description of
Mrs. Gladstein's claim to be in no way exaggerated. She was arrayed in a
black silk dress of a design well calculated to display her graceful
figure, while her oval face was shaded by a black picture hat, beneath
which her large dark eyes glowed and flashed by turns. Moreover, her
complexion was all cream and roses, and when she smiled two rows of even
white teeth were exposed between a pair of tantalizing red lips.
Morris commenced to perspire with embarrassment as he remembered how he
had planned to negotiate a match for this glorious creature--a task that
only a very prince of marriage brokers might have essayed. He turned
away; but as his eye rested on B. Gurin, who still lingered over the
presents, he was obliged to admit that he had chosen a fitting
candidate, and he even felt mollified toward his delinquent customer as
he reflected on Gurin's lost opportunity.
"Gurin," he said, "ain't you going to congradulate the _Kahlo_?"
"I didn't know she was here at all," Gurin said sadly. The truth was
that Gurin's presence at the reception that afternoon was not inspired
by curiosity concerning either Mrs. Gladstein or Asimof. Business was
undeniably bad with him, and he was making an earnest effort to keep his
financial head above water. Thus he limited his personal expenses to the
preservation of his wardrobe, and he had cut down his cost of living to
a degree that permitted only a very low, lunch-wagon diet. He saw in
Mrs. Sammet's hospitality the prospect of a meal, and although he was by
no means courageous, his appetite spurred him on to brave his creditors'
wrath.
"I'll take a look at her," he murmured apologetically, and he began to
elbow his way through the group that surrounded the engaged couple.
Morris patted him on the shoulder as he passed and was about to return
to the back parlour when a shriek came from the centre of the
congratulatory throng.
"Boris!" cried a female voice with a note of hysteria in its shrill
tones.
"Sonia!" B. Gurin exclaimed, and the next moment he clasped Mrs.
Gladstein in his arms.
* * * * *
"You was asking me the name of Mrs. Gladstein's first husband," said Sol
Klinger to Morris Perlmutter, as they descended the stoop together half
an hour later. "It was Aaron Lutsky. He died two years after they was
married. I knew his family well in the old country--her's too,
Perlmutter. Her father was a feller by the name Polanya, and to-day yet
he runs a big flour mill in Koroleshtchevitzi."
"So I understand," Morris said; "but what's that you got there under
your coat?"
He referred to a huge bulge on the right side of Sol Klinger's Prince
Albert coat, which Sol was supporting with both hands.
"That's my present," Sol said, as if surprised at the question, "and if
Marcus Flachs wouldn't give me my money back, understand me, I could
anyhow exchange it for something useful."
"It don't make no difference, Mawruss," Abe said, as they sat in their
showroom two months later. "The feller should got to pay us that two
hundred and fifty dollars."
"But we would get lots of business out of them now that they are
married, Abe," Morris protested.
"Sure, I know, Mawruss, and they got lots of presents out of us too,
Mawruss," Abe said. "Counting the engagement and the wedding present,
Mawruss, and my Rosie's new dress, and the pants which you bought it to
go with your tuxedo, understand me--first and last we must be out a
hundred and fifty dollars."
Morris nodded. He recognized that an opportunity was here presented to
correct Abe's figures by the addition of fifteen dollars to the price of
the engagement present, but he deemed it more prudent to await the
arrival of Gurin's first order. In point of fact, Morris had begun to
examine the mails with some anxiety for a letter postmarked Bridgetown.
More than two weeks had elapsed since Gurin's wedding, and, making due
allowances for honeymooning, it seemed to Morris that from an inspection
of Mrs. Gladstein's stock, made by him on a congratulatory visit to
Bridgetown, there was immediate need for replenishment.
"I don't understand why we don't hear from them people at all," he said.
"Give 'em a show, Mawruss. Give 'em a show," Abe replied. "A man only
gets married, for the first time, once."
Morris shrugged.
"For my part, Abe, I ain't in no hurry," he said. "If you could see the
way Leon Sammet gives me a look this morning when I seen him on the
subway y'understand, it would be worth to you a hundred and fifty
dollars. Sol Klinger is feeling sore too, Abe. I seen him in
Hammersmith's yesterday, and he says to me Flachs wouldn't exchange that
samovar arrangement which he bought it, so he took it home with him, and
he ain't drunk nothing but coffee in two months."
"I bet yer," Abe commented; "and he also ain't got an order from Asimof
in two months. The feller is heartbroken, Mawruss. He even had made
arrangements to sell his store in Dotyville and move over to Bridgetown,
y'understand, and when he called the deal off the purchaser sues him for
breach of contract yet."
"But why should he get mad at Klinger?" Morris asked. "Klinger didn't do
him nothing."
"Maybe you don't think so, Mawruss, but Asimof figures differencely;
because he told me this morning, that after the engagement is off,
understand me, Mrs. Gladstein and him makes a division of the presents.
Asimof takes what was sent by the concerns which is selling _him_ goods,
and Mrs. Gladstein takes the rest, all excepting a present they got from
Marks Pasinsky.
"Pasinsky used to sell 'em both goods, y'understand; but fortunately,
Mawruss, he sends 'em a dozen coffee spoons, so Asimof takes six and
Mrs. Gladstein takes six."
"It's a good thing Pasinsky didn't send 'em a single piece of cut
glass," Morris said thoughtfully.
"It wouldn't make no difference to Asimof," Abe said. "He would of
allowed Mrs. Gladstein half cost price, give or take. He's a pretty
square feller, Asimof is, Mawruss, and he said he would give a look in
here this afternoon. We needn't be afraid from him, Mawruss. He's A
number one up to two hundred and fifty dollars, thirty days net."
Morris nodded again and walked slowly toward the cutting room, while his
partner sat down to read the trade news in the _Daily Cloak and Suit
Record_. Morris had hardly reached the doorway, however, when a strident
shout caused him to retrace his steps in a hurry.
"What's the matter now?" he exclaimed; but Abe was incapable of
articulate speech. Instead he held out the paper and made noises
appropriate to an apopletic seizure, which Morris construed as a request
to look at something of more than ordinary interest.
"Where, where?" he demanded, and Abe stuck a trembling forefinger
through the printed page. As nearly as the torn edges of the paper would
permit, Morris read the following paragraph:
BRIDGETOWN, PA.--D. GLADSTEIN'S STORE CLOSED. The stock and
fixtures of the general store conducted here by D. Gladstein,
deceased, were closed out last week, and his widow, who recently
married B. Gurin, sailed from New York with her husband yesterday
for Hamburg. It is understood that they intend to reside
permanently in Europe.
While Morris perused the item Abe gradually recovered his composure, and
when his partner at last put down the paper Abe was able to smile the
slow, ghostly smile of a man who has called four deuces with an ace
full.
"Well, Mawruss," he said resignedly, "a feller must expect the worst
when he's got an optician for a partner."
[Transcriber's Note:
Punctuation has been regularized, except for inconsistent hyphenation,
which has been retained as in the original.
The following typographic errors have been corrected:
Page 109 "woud" changed to "would"
Page 223 "cired" changed to "cried"
Page 234 "it it" changed to "it is"
Page 352 "successs" changed to "success"
The following were each used once and were not changed:
jimminy/jiminy
defence/defense]