0061
Suddenly it occurred to me to wonder what had become of Sam. I had not once thought of him since my plunge into the water. I suppose the reason for this forgetfulness was that my entire mind, as well as my entire body, had been bent upon the work I had in hand. But now, as I say, it suddenly occurred to me to wonder what had become of him; and a sickening fear lest he might have got drowned made my heart quail.
“O, sir!” I demanded, “Sam—the other boy—where is he? Has anything happened to him? Did he—he didn't—he didn't get drowned?”
“Drownded?” repeated the fisherman. “Well, you can bet he didn't. He's all right. There he is—under dot tree over there.”
He pointed toward an apple-tree, beneath which I descried Sam Budd, already nearly dressed. As Sam's eyes met mine, a very sheepish look crept over his face, and he called out, “Oh! I gave up long ago.” Well, you may just guess how proud and victorious I felt to hear this admission from my rival's lips.
The fisherman now turned his attention to straightening out his tackle, which had got into a sad mess during its bath, while I set to putting on my things. Pretty soon he drew near to where I stood, and, surveying me with a curious glance, “Well, Bubby, how you feel?” he asked.
“Oh! I feel all right, thank you, sir; only a little cold,” I answered.
“Well, Bubby, you was a fine boy,” he went on. “Well, how old was you?”
“I'm twelve, going on thirteen.”
“My kracious! Is dot all? Why, you wasn't much older as a baby; and yet so tall and strong already. Well, Bubby, what's your name?”
“Gregory Brace.”
“Krekory Prace, hey? Well, dot's a fine name. Well; you live here in Nawvich, I suppose—yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Maybe your papa was in business here?”
“No, sir; my father is dead.”
“Oh! is dot so? Well, dot's too bad. And so you was a half-orphan, yes?”
“No, sir; my mother is dead, too.”
“You don't say so! Well, my kracious! Well, den you was a whole orphan, ain't you? Well, who you live with?”
“I live with my uncle, sir—Judge Brace.”
“Oh! so your uncle was a judge. Well, dot's grand. Well, you go to school, I suppose, hey?”
“No, sir; I don't go to school.”
“You don't go to school? Oh! then, maybe you was in business already, yes.”
“O, no, sir! I'm not in business.”
“You don't go to school, and you wasn't in business; well, what you do mit yourself all day long, hey?”
“I play.”
“You play! Well, then you was a sort of a gentleman of leisure, ain't you? Well, dot must be pretty good fun—to play all day. Well, Bubby, you ever go to New York?”
“No, sir; I've never been in New York. Do you live in New York, sir?”
“Yes, Bubby, I live in New York when I'm at home. But I'm shenerally on the road, like I was to-day. I'm what you call a trummer; a salesman for Krauskopf, Sollinger & Co., voolens. Here's my card.”
He handed me a large pasteboard card, of which the following is a copy:—
0068
“Yes,” he went on, “dot's my name, and dot's my address. And when you come to New York you call on me there, and I'll treat you like a buyer. I'll show you around our establishment, and I'll give you a dinner by a restaurant, and I'll take you to the theayter, and then, if you want it, I'll get you a chop.”
“A chop?” I queried. “What is a chop?”
“What is a chop! Why, if you want to go into business, you got to get a chop, ain't you? A chop was an embloyment; and then there was chop-lots also.” At this I understood that he meant a job. “Yes, Bubby, a fine boy like you hadn't oughter be doing nodings all day long. You'd oughter go into business, and get rich. You're smart enough, and you got enerchy. I was in business already when I was ten years old, and I ain't no smarter as you, and I ain't got no more enerchy. Yes, Bubby, you take my advice: come down to New York, and I get you a chop, and you make your fortune, no mistake about it. And now, Bubby, I want to give you a little present to remember me by.”
He drew a great fat roll of money from his waistcoat pocket, and offered me a two-dollar bill.
“O, no! I thank you, sir,” I hastened to say. “I don't want any money.”
“O, well! this ain't no money to speak of, Bubby; only a two-tollar pill. You just take it, and buy yourself a little keepsake. It von't hurt you.”
“You're very kind, sir; but I really can't take it, thank you.” And it flashed through my mind: “What would Uncle Florimond think of me, if I should accept his money?”
“Well, dot's too bad. I really like to make you a little present, Bubby. But if you was too proud, what you say if I give it to the other boy, hey?”
“Oh! to Sam—yes, I think that would be a very good idea,” I replied.
So he called Sam—Semwas the way he pronounced it—and gave him the two-dol-lar bill, which Sam received without the faintest show of compunction.
“Well, I got to go now,” the fisherman said, holding out his hand. “Well, good-by, Bubby; and don't forget, when you come to New York, to give me a call. Well, so-long.”
Sam and I watched him till he got out of sight. Then we too started for home.
At the time, my talk with Mr. Solomon D. Marx did not make any especial impression on me; but a few days later it came back to me, the subject of serious meditation. The circumstances were as follows:—
We had just got through our supper, and Uncle Peter had gone to his room, when all at once I heard his door open, and his voice, loud and sharp, call, “Gregory!”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, my heart in a flutter; and to myself I thought, “O, dear, what can be the matter now?”
“Come here, quick!” he ordered.
I entered his room, and saw him standing near his table, with a cigar-box in his hand.
“You young rascal,” he began; “so you have been stealing my cigars!”
This charge of theft was so unexpected, so insulting, so untrue, that, if he had struck me a blow between the eyes, it could not have taken me more aback. The blood rushed to my face; my whole frame grew rigid, as if I had been petrified. I tried to speak; but my presence of mind had deserted me; I could not think of a single word.
“Well?” he questioned. “Well? ''
“I—I—I”—I stammered. Scared out of my wits, I could get no further.
“Well, have you nothing to say for yourself?”
“I—I did—I didn't—do it,” I gasped. “I don't know what you mean.”
“What!” he thundered. “You dare to lie to me about it! You dare to steal from me, and then lie to my face! You insufferable beggar! I'll teach you a lesson.” And, putting out his hand, he took his rattan cane from the peg it hung by on the wall.
“Oh! really and truly, Uncle Peter,” I protested, “I never stole a thing in all my life. I never saw your cigars. I didn't even know you had any. Oh! you—you're not going to whip me, when I didn't do it?”
“Why, what a barefaced little liar it is! Egad! you do it beautifully. I wouldn't have given you credit for so much cleverness.” He said this in a sarcastic voice, and with a mocking smile. Then he frowned, and his voice changed. “Come here,” he snarled, his fingers tightening upon the handle of his cane.
A great wave of anger swept over me, and brought me a momentary flush of courage. “No, sir; I won't,” I answered, my whole body in a tremor.
Uncle Peter started. I had never before dared to defy him. He did not know what to make of my doing so now. He turned pale. He bit his lip. His eyes burned with a peculiarly ugly light. So he stood, glaring at me, for a moment. Then, “You—won't,” he repeated, very low, and pausing between the words. “Why, what kind of talk is this I hear? Well, well, my fine fellow, you amuse me.”
I was standing between him and the door. I turned now, with the idea of escaping from the room. But he was too quick for me. I had only just got my hand upon the latch, when he sprang forward, seized me by the collar of my jacket, and, with one strong pull, landed me again in the middle of the floor.
“There!” he cried. “Now we'll have it out. I owe you four: one for stealing my cigars; one for lying to me about it; one for telling me you wouldn't; and one for trying to sneak out of the room. Take this, and this, and this.”
With that he set his rattan cane in motion; nor did he bring it to a stand-still until I felt as though I had not one well spot left upon my skin.
“Now, then, be off with you,” he growled; and I found myself in the hall outside his door.
I dragged my aching body to my room, and sat down at my window in the dark. Never before had I experienced such a furious sense of outrage. Many and many a time I had been whipped, as I thought, unjustly; but this time he had added insult to injury; he had accused me of stealing and of lying; and, deaf to my assertion of my innocence, he had punished me accordingly. I seriously believe that I did not mind the whipping in itself half so much as I minded the shameful accusations that he had brought against me. “How long, how long,” I groaned, “has this got to last? Shall I never be able to get away—to get to France, to my Uncle Florimond? If I only had some money—if I had a hundred dollars—then all my troubles would be over and done with. Surely, a hundred dollars would be enough to take me to the very door of his house in Paris.” But how—how to obtain such an enormous sum? And it was at this point that my conversation with Mr. Solomon D. Marx came back to me:—
“Why, go to New York! Go into business! You'll soon earn a hundred dollars. Mr. Marx said he would get you a job. Start for New York to-morrow.”
This notion took immediate and entire possession of my fancy, and I remained awake all night, building glittering air-castles upon it as a foundation. The only doubt that vexed me was, “What will Uncle Peter say? Will he let me go?” The idea of going secretly, or without his consent, never once entered my head. “Well, to-morrow morning,” I resolved, “I will speak with him, and ask his permission. And if he gives it to me—hurrah! And if he doesn't—O, dear me, dear me!”
To cut a long story short, when, next morning, I did speak with him, and ask his permission, he, to my infinite joy, responded, “Why, go, and be hanged to you. Good riddance to bad rubbish!”
In my tin savings bank, I found, I had nine dollars and sixty-three cents. With this in my pocket; with the sword of my Uncle Florimond as the principal part of my luggage; and with a heart full of strange and new emotions, of fear and hope, and gladness and regret, I embarked that evening upon the Sound steamboat, City of Lawrence, for the metropolis where I have ever since had my home; bade good-by to my old life, and set sail alone upon the great, awful, unknown sea of the future.
Idid not feel rich enough to take a stateroom on the City of Lawrence; that would have cost a dollar extra; so I picked out a sofa in the big gilt and white saloon, and sitting down upon it, proceeded to make myself as comfortable as the circumstances would permit. A small boy, armed with a large sword, and standing guard over a hand-satchel and a square package done up in a newspaper—which last contained my Uncle Florimond's copy ofPaul et Virginie—I dare say I presented a curious spectacle to the passers-by. Indeed, almost everybody turned to look at me; and one man, with an original wit, inquired, “Hello, sword, where you going with that boy?” But my mind was too busy with other and weightier matters to be disturbed about mere appearances. One thought in particular occupied it: I must not on any account allow myself to fall asleep—for then I might be robbed. No; I must take great pains to keep wide awake all night long.
For the first hour or two it was easy enough to make this resolution good. The undiscovered country awaiting my exploration, the novelty and the excitement of my position, the people walking back and forth, and laughing and chattering, the noises coming from the dock outside, and from every corner of the steamboat inside, the bright lights of the cabin lamps—all combined to put my senses on the alert, and to banish sleep. But after we had got under way, and the other passengers had retired to their berths or staterooms, and most of the lamps had been extinguished, and the only sound to be heard was the muffled throbbing of the engines, then tired nature asserted herself, the sandman came, my eyelids grew very heavy, I began to nod. Er-rub-dub-dub, er-rub-dub-dub, went the engines; er-rub-dubdub, er-rub-er-rub-er-er-er-r-r...,
Mercy! With a sudden start I came to myself. It was broad day. I had been sleeping soundly for I knew not how many hours.
My first thought, of course, was for my valuables. Had my fears been realized? Had I been robbed? I hastened to make an investigation. No! My money, my sword, my satchel, myPaul et Virginie, remained in their proper places, unmolested. Having relieved my anxiety on this head, I got up, stretched myself, and went out on deck.
If I live to be a hundred, I don't believe I shall ever forget my first breath of the outdoor air on that red-letter April morning—it was so sweet, so pure, so fresh and keen and stimulating. It sent a glow of new vitality tingling through my body. I just stood still and drew in deep inhalations of it with delight. It was like drinking a rich, delicious wine. My heart warmed and mellowed. Hope and gladness entered into it.
It must have been very early. The sun, a huge ball of gold, floated into rosy mists but a little higher than the horizon; and a heavy dew bathed the deck and the chairs and the rail. We were speeding along, almost, it seemed, within a stone's throw of the shore, where the turf was beginning to put on the first vivid green of spring, where the leafless trees were exquisitely penciled against the gleaming sky, and where, from the chimneys of the houses, the smoke of breakfast fires curled upward: Over all there lay a wondrous, restful stillness, which the pounding of our paddle-wheels upon the water served only to accentuate, and which awoke in one's breast a deep, solemn, and yet joyous sense of peace.
I staid out on deck from that moment until, some two hours later, we brought up alongside our pier; and with what strange and strong emotions I watched the vast town grow from a mere distant reddish blur to the grim, frowning mass of brick and stone it really is, I shall not attempt to tell. To a country-bred lad like myself it was bound to be a stirring and memorable experience. Looking back at it now, I can truly say that it was one of the most stirring and memorable experiences of my life.
It was precisely eight o'clock, as a gentleman of whom I inquired the hour was kind enough to inform me, when I stepped off the City of Lawrence and into the city of New York. My heart was bounding, but my poor brain was bewildered. The hurly-burly of people, the fierce-looking men at the entrance of the dock, who shook their fists at me, and shouted, “Cadge, cadge, want a cadge?” leaving me to wonder what a cadge was, the roar and motion of the wagons in the street, everything, everything interested, excited, yet also confused, baffled, and to some degree frightened me. I felt as though I had been set down in pandemonium; yet I was not sorry to be there; I rather liked it.
I went up to a person whom I took to be a policeman, for he wore a uniform resembling that worn by our one single policeman in Norwich City; and, exhibiting the card that Mr. Marx had given me, I asked him how to reach the street and house indicated upon it.
He eyed me with unconcealed amusement at my accoutrements, and answered, “Ye wahk down tin blocks; thin turrun to yer lift four blocks; thin down wan; thin to yer roight chew or thray doors; and there ye are.”
“Thank you, sir,” said I, and started off, repeating his instructions to myself, so as not to forget them.
I felt very hungry, and I hoped that Mr. Marx would offer me some breakfast; but it did not occur to me to stop at an eating-house, and breakfast on my own account, until, as I was trudging along, I presently caught sight of a sign-board standing on the walk in front of a shop, which advertised, in big conspicuous white letters upon a black ground:—
0084
Merely to read the names of these good things made my mouth water. The prices seemed reasonable. I walked into the ladies' and gents' dining parlor—which was rather shabby and dingy, I thought, for a parlor—and asked for a beefsteak and some fried potatoes; a burly, villainous-looking colored man, in his shirt-sleeves, having demanded, “Wall, Boss, wottle you have?” His shirt-sleeves were not immaculately clean; neither was the dark red cloth that covered my table; neither, I feared, was the fork he gave me to eat with. To make sure, I picked this last-named object up, and examined it; whereupon the waiter, with a horrid loud laugh, cried, “Oh! yassah, it's sawlid, sawlid silvah, sah,” which made me feel wretchedly silly and uncomfortable. The beefsteak was pretty tough, and not especially toothsome in its flavor; the potatoes were lukewarm and greasy; the bread was soggy, the butter rancid; the waiter took up a position close at hand, and stared at me with his wicked little eyes as steadily as if he had never seen a boy before: so, despite my hunger, I ate with a poor appetite, and was glad enough when by and by I left the ladies' and gents' dining parlor behind me, and resumed my journey through the streets. As I was crossing the threshold, the waiter called after me, “Say, Johnny, where joo hook the sword?”
Inquiring my way of each new policeman that I passed—for I distrusted my memory of the directions I had received from the first—I finally reached No. ——, Franklin Street and read the name of Krauskopf, Sollinger & Co., engraved in Old English letters upon a shining metal sign. I entered, and with a trembling heart inquired for Mr. Marx. Ten seconds later I stood before him.
0093
“Mr. Marx,” I ventured, in rather a timid voice.
He was seated in a swivel-chair, reading a newspaper, and smoking a cigar. At the sound of his name, he glanced up, and looked at me for a moment with an absent-minded and indifferent face, showing no glimmer of recognition. But then, suddenly, his eyes lighted; he sprang from his chair, started back, and cried:—
“My kracious! was dot you, Bubby? Was dot yourself? Was dot—well, my koodness!”
“Yes, sir; Gregory Brace,” I replied.
“Krekory Prace! Yes, dot's a fact. No mistake about it. It's yourself, sure. But—but, koodness kracious, Bubby, what—how—why—when—where—where you come from? When you leave Nawvich? How you get here? What you—well, it's simply wonderful.”
“I came down on the boat last night,” I said.
“Oh! you came down on de boat last night. Well, I svear. Well, Bubby, who came mit you?”
“Nobody, sir; I came alone.”
“You came alone! You don't say so. Well, did your mamma—excuse me; you ain't got no mamma; I forgot; it was your uncle—well, did your uncle know you was come?”
“Oh! yes, sir; he knows it; he said I might.”
“He said you might, hey? Well, dot's fine. Well, Bubby, what you come for? To make a little visit, hey, and go around a little, and see the town? Well, Bubby, this was a big surprise; it was, and no mistake. But I'm glad to see you, all de same. Well, shake hands.”
“No, sir,” I explained, after we had shaken hands, “I didn't come for a visit. I came to go into business. You said you would get me a job, and I have come for that.”
“Oh! you was come to go into pusiness, was you? And you want I should get you a chop? Well, if I ever! Well, you're a great feller, Bubby; you got so much ambition about you. Well, dot's all right. I get you the chop, don't you be afraid. We talk about dot in a minute. But now, excuse me, Bubby, but what you doing mit the sword? Was you going to kill somebody mit it, hey, Bubby?”
“O, no, sir! it—it's a keepsake.”
“Oh! it was a keepsake, was it, Bubby? Well, dot's grand. Well, who was it a keepsake of? It's a handsome sword, Bubby, and it must be worth quite a good deal of money. If dot's chenu-wine gold, I shouldn't wonder if it was worth two or three hundred dollars.—Oh! by the way, Bubby, you had your breakfast yet already?”
“Well, yes, sir; I've had a sort of breakfast.”
“A sort of a breakfast, hey? Well, what sort of a breakfast was it?”
I gave him an account of my experience in the ladies' and gents' dining parlor. He laughed immoderately, though I couldn't see that it was so very funny. “Well, Bubby,” he remarked, “dot was simply immense. Dot oughter go into a comic paper, mit a picture of dot big nigger staring at you. Well, I give ten dollars to been there, and heard him tell you dot fork was solid silver. Well, dot was a. pretty poor sort of a breakfast, anyhow. I guess you better come along out mit me now, and we get anudder sort of a breakfast, hey? You just wait here a minute while I go put on my hat. And say, Bubby, I guess you better give me dot sword, to leaf here while we're gone. I don't believe you'll need it. Give me dem udder things, too,” pointing to my satchel and my book.
He went away, but soon came back, with his hat on; and, taking my hand, he led me out into the street. After a walk of a few blocks, we turned into a luxurious little restaurant, as unlike the dining parlor as a fine lady is unlike a beggar woman, and sat down at a neat round table covered with a snowy cloth.
“Now, Bubby,” inquired Mr. Marx, “you got any preferences? Or will you give me card blanch to order what I think best?”
“Oh! order what you think best.”
He beckoned a waiter, and spoke to him at some length in a foreign language, which, I guessed, was German. The waiter went off; and then, addressing me, Mr. Marx said, “Well, now, Bubby, now we're settled down, quiet and comfortable, now you go ahead and tell me all about it.”
“All about what, sir?” queried I.
“Why, all about yourself, and what you leaf your home for, and what you expect to do here in New York, and every dings—the whole pusiness. Well, fire away.”
“Well, sir, I—it—it's this way,” I began. And then, as well as I could, I told Mr. Marx substantially everything that I have as yet told you in this story—about my grandmother, my Uncle Florimond, my Uncle Peter, and all the rest. Meanwhile the waiter had brought the breakfast—such an abundant, delicious breakfast! such juicy mutton chops, such succulent stewed potatoes, such bread, such butter, such coffee!—and I was violating the primary canons of good breeding by talking with my mouth full. Mr. Marx heard me through with every sign of interest and sympathy, only interrupting once, to ask, “Well, what I ordered—I hope it gives you entire satisfaction, hey?” and when I had done:—
“Well, if I ever!” he exclaimed. “Well, dot beats de record! Well, dot Uncle Peter was simply outracheous! Well, Bubby, you done just right, you done just exactly right, to come to me. The only thing dot surprises me is how you stood it so long already. Well, dot Uncle Peter of yours, Bubby—well, dot's simply unnecheral.”
He paused for a little, and appeared to be thinking. By and by he went on, “But your grandma, Bubby, your grandma was elegant. Yes, Bubby, your grandma was an angel, and no mistake about it. She reminds me, Bubby, she reminds me of my own mamma. Ach, Krekory, my mamma was so loafly. You couldn't hardly believe it. She was simply magnificent. Your grandma and her, they might have been tervins. Yes, Krekory, they might have been tervinsisters.”
Much to my surprise, Mr. Marx's eyes filled with tears, and there was a frog in his voice. “I can't help it, Bubby,” he said. “When you told me about dot grandma of yours, dot made me feel like crying. You see,” he added in an apologetic key, “I got so much sentiment about me.”
He was silent again for a little, and then again by and by he went on, “But I tell you what, Krekory, it's awful lucky dot you came down to New York just exactly when you did. Uddervise—if you'd come tomorrow instead of to-day, for example—you wouldn't have found me no more. Tomorrow morning I start off on the road for a six weeks' trip. What you done, hey, if you come down to New York and don't find me, hey, Bubby? Dot would been fearful, hey? Well, now, Krekory, now about dot chop. Well, as I got to leaf town to-morrow morning, I ain't got the time to find you a first-class chop before I go. But I tell you what I do. I take you up and introduce you to my fader-in-law; and you stay mit him till I get back from my trip, and then I find you the best chop in the market, don't you be afraid. My fader-in-law was a cheweler of the name of Mr. Finkelstein, Mr. Gottlieb Finkelstein. He's one of the nicest gentlemen you want to know, Bubby, and he'll treat you splendid. As soon as you get through mit dot breakfast, I take you up and introduce you to him.”
We went back to Mr. Marx's place of business, and got my traps; and then we took a horse-car up-town to Mr. Finkelstein's, which was in Third Avenue near Forty-Seventh Street. Mr. Marx talked to me about his father-in-law all the time.
“He's got more wit about him than any man of my acquaintance,” he said, “and he's so fond of music. He's a vidower, you know, Bubby; and I married his only daughter, of the name of Hedwig. Me and my wife, we board; but Mr. Finkelstein, he lives up-stairs over his store, mit an old woman of the name of Henrietta, for houze-keeper. Well, you'll like him first-rate, Bubby, you see if you don't; and he'll like you, you got so much enerchy about you. My kracious! If you talk about eating, he sets one of the grandest tables in the United States. And he's so fond of music, Krek-ory—it's simply wonderful. But I tell you one thing, Bubby; don't you never let him play a game of pinochle mit you, or else you get beat all holler. He's the most magnificent pinochle player in New York City; he's simply A-number-one.. . . Hello! here we are.”
We left the horse-car, and found ourselves in front of a small jeweler's shop, which we entered. The shop was empty, but, a bell over the door having tinkled in announcement of our arrival, there entered next moment from the room behind it an old gentleman, who, as soon as he saw Mr. Marx, cried, “Hello, Solly! Is dot you? Vail, I declare! Vail, how goes it?”
The very instant I first set eyes on him, I thought this was one of the pleasantest-looking old gentlemen I had ever seen in my life; and I am sure you would have shared my opinion if you had seen him, too. He was quite short—not taller than five feet two or three at the utmost—and as slender as a young girl; but he had a head and face that were really beautiful. His forehead was high, and his hair, white as snow and soft as silk, was combed straight back from it. A long white silky beard swept downward over his breast, half-way to his waist. His nose was a perfect aquiline, and it reminded me a little of my grandmother's, only it was longer and more pointed. But what made his face especially prepossessing were his eyes; the kindest, merriest eyes you can imagine; dark blue in color; shining with a mild, sweet light that won your heart at once, yet having also a humorous twinkle in them. Yes, the moment I first saw Mr. Finkelstein I took a liking to him; a liking which was ere a great while to develop into one of the strongest affections of my life.
“Vail, how goes it?” he had inquired of Mr. Marx; and Mr. Marx had answered, “First-class. How's yourself?”
“Oh! vail, pretty fair, tank you. I cain't complain. I like to be better, but I might be vorse. Vail, how's Heddie?”
“Oh! Hedwig, she's immense, as usual. Well, how's business?”
“Oh! don't aisk me. Poor, dirt-poor. I ain't made no sale vort mentioning dese two or tree days already. Only vun customer here dis morning yet, and he didn't buy nodings. Aifter exaiming five tousand tol-lars vort of goots, he tried to chew me down on a two tollar and a haif plated gold vatch-chain. Den I aisked him vedder he took my establishment for a back-handed owction, and he got maid and vent avay. Vail, I cain't help it; I must haif my shoke, you know, Solly. Vail, come along into de parlor. Valk in, set down, make yourself to home.”
Without stopping his talk, he led us into the room behind the shop, which was very neatly and comfortably furnished, and offered us chairs. “Set down,” said he, “and make yourself shust as much to home as if you belonged here. I hate to talk to a man stainding up. Vail, Solly, I'm real glaid to see you; but, tell me, Solly, was dis young shentleman mit you a sort of a body-guard, hey?”
“A body-guard?” repeated Mr. Marx, “how you mean?”
“Why, on account of de sword; I tought maybe you took him along for brodection.”
“Ach, my kracious, fader-in-law, you're simply killing, you got so much wit about you,” cried Mr. Marx, laughing.
“Vail, I must haif my shoke, dot's a faict,” admitted Mr. Finkelstein. “Vail, Soily, you might as vail make us acqvainted, hey?”
“Well, dot's what brought me up here this morning, fader-in-law. I wanted to introduce him to you. Well, this is Mr. Krekory Prace—Mr. Finkelstein.”
“Bleased to make your acqvaintance, Mr. Prace; shake hands,” said Mr. Finkelstein. “And so your name was Kraikory, was it, Shonny? I used to know a Mr. Kraikory kept an undertaker's estaiblishment on Sixt Aivenue. Maybe he was a relation of yours, hey?”
“No, sir; I don't think so. Gregory is only my first name,” I answered.
“Well, now, fader-in-law,” struck in Mr. Marx, “you remember dot boy I told you about up in Nawvich, what jumped into the water, and saved me my fishing-pole already, de udder day?”
“Yes, Solly, I remember. Vail?”
“Well, fader-in-law, this was the boy.”
“What! Go 'vay!” exclaimed Mr. Finkelstein. “You don't mean it! Vail, if I aifer! Vail, Shonny, let me look at you.” He looked at me with all his eyes, swaying his head slowly from side to side as he did so. “Vail, I wouldn't haif believed, it, aictually.”
“It's a fact, all de same; no mistake about it,” attested Mr. Marx. “And now he's come down to New York, looking for a chop.”
“A shop, hey? Vail, what kind of a shop does he vant, Solly? I should tink a shop by de vater-vorks vould be about his ticket, hey?”
“Oh! no shoking. Pusiness is pusiness, fader-in-law,” Mr. Marx protested. “Well, seriously, I guess he ain't particular what kind of a chop, so long as it's steady and has prospects. He's got so much enerchy and ambition about him, I guesss he'll succeed in 'most any kind of a chop. But first I guess you better let him tell you de reasons he leaf his home, and den you can give him your advice. Go ahead, Bubby, and tell Mr. Finkelstein what you told me down by the restaurant.”
“Yes, go ahead, Shonny,” Mr. Finkelstein added; and so for a second time that day I gave an account of myself.
Mr. Finkelstein was even a more sympathetic listener than Mr. Marx had been. He kept swaying his head and muttering ejaculations, sometimes in English, sometimes in German, but always indicative of his eager interest in my tale. “Mein Gott!” “Ist's moglich?” “You don't say so!” “Vail, if I aifer!” And his kind eyes were all the time fixed upon my face in the most friendly and encouraging way. In the end, “Vail, I declare! Vail, my kracious!” he cried. “Vail, Shonny, I naifer heard nodings like dot in all my life before. You poor little boy! All alone in de vorld, mit nobody but dot parparian, dot saivage, to take care of you. Vail, it was simply heart-rending. Vail, your Uncle Peter, he'd oughter be tarred and feddered, dot's a faict. But don't you be afraid, Shonny; God will punish him; He will, shust as sure as I'm sitting here, Kraikory. Oh! you're a good boy, Kraikory, you're a fine boy. You make me loaf you already like a fader. Vail, Shonny, and so now you was come down to New York mit de idea of getting rich, was you?”
“Yes, sir,” I confessed.
“Vail, dot's a first-claiss idea. Dot's de same idea what I come to dis country mit. Vail, now, I give you a little piece of information, Shonny; what maybe you didn't know before. Every man in dis vorld was born to get rich. Did you know dot, Shonny?”
“Why, no, sir; I didn't know it. Is it true?”
“Yes, sir; it's a solemn faict. I leaf it to Solly, here. Every man in dis vorld is born to get rich—only some of 'em don't live long enough. You see de point?”
Mr. Marx and I joined in a laugh. Mr. Finkelstein smiled faintly, and said, as if to excuse himself, “Vail, I cain't help it. I must haif my shoke.”
“The grandest thing about your wit, fader-in-law,” Mr. Marx observed, “is dot you don't never laugh yourself.”
“No; dot's so,” agreed Mr. Finkelstein. “When you get off a vitticism, you don't vant to laif yourself, for fear you might laif de cream off it.”
“Ain't he immense?” demanded Mr. Marx, in an aside to me. Then, turning to his father-in-law: “Well, as I was going to tell you, I got to leaf town to-morrow morning for a trip on the road; so I thought I'd ask you to let Krekory stay here mit you till I get back. Den I go to vork and look around for a chop for him.”
“Solly,” replied Mr. Finkelstein, “you got a good heart; and your brains is simply remarkable. You done shust exaictly right. I'm very glaid to have such a fine boy for a visitor. But look at here, Solly; I was tinking vedder I might not manufacture a shop for him myself.”
“Manufacture a chop? How you mean?” Mr. Marx queried.
“How I mean? How should I mean? I mean I ain't got no ready-mait shops on hand shust now in dis estaiblishment; but I might mainufacture a shop for the right party. You see de point?”
“You mean you'll make a chop for him? You mean you'll give him a chop here, by you?” cried Mr. Marx.
“Vail, Solomon, if you was as vise as your namesake, you might haif known dot mitout my going into so much eggsblanations.”
“My kracious, fader-in-law, you're simply elegant, you're simply loafly, and no mistake about it. Well, I svear!”
“Oh! dot's all right. Don't mention it. I took a chenu-wine liking to Kraikory; he's got so much enterprise about him,” said Mr. Finkelstein.
“Well, what sort of a chop would it be, fader-in-law?” questioned Mr. Marx.
“Vail, I tink I give him de position of clerk, errant boy, and sheneral assistant,” Mr. Finkelstein replied.
“Well, Krekory, what you say to dot?” Mr. Marx inquired.
“De question is, do you accept de appointment?” added Mr. Finkelstein.
“O, yes, sir!” I answered. “You're very, very kind, you're very good to me. I—” I had to stop talking, and take a good big swallow, to keep down my tears; yet, surely, I had nothing to cry about!
“Well, fader-in-law, what vages will you pay?” pursued Mr. Marx.
“Vail, Solly, what vages was dey paying now to boys of his age?”
“Well, they generally start them on two dollars a week.”
“Two tollars a veek, and he boards and clodes himself, hey?”
“Yes, fader-in-law, dot's de system.”
“Vail, Solly, I tell you what I do. I board and clode him, and give him a quarter a veek to get drunk on. Is dot saitisfaictory?”
“But, sir,” I hastened to put in, pained and astonished at his remark, “I—I don't get drunk.”
“O, Lord, Bubby!” cried Mr. Marx, laughing. “You're simply killing! He don't mean get drunk. Dot's only his witty way of saying pocket-money.”
“Oh! I—I understand,” I stammered.
“You must excuse me, Shonny,” said Mr. Finkelstein. “I didn't mean to make you maid. But I must haif my shoke, you know; I cain't help it. Vail, Solly, was de proposition saitisfaictory?”
“Well, Bubby, was Mr. Finkelstein's proposition satisfactory?” asked Mr. Marx.
“O, yes, sir! yes, indeed,” said I.
“Vail, all right; dot settles it,” concluded Mr. Finkelstein. “And now, Kraikory, I pay you your first veek's sailary in advaince, hey?” and he handed me a crisp twenty-five-cent paper piece.
I was trying, in the depths of my own mind, to calculate how long it would take me, at this rate, to earn the hundred dollars that I needed for my journey across the sea to my Uncle Florimond. The outlook was not encouraging. I remembered, though, a certain French proverb that my grandmother had often repeated to me, and I tried to find some consolation in it: “Tout vient à la fin à qui sait attendre”—Everything comes at last to him who knows how to wait.
So you see me installed at Mr. Finkel-stein's as clerk, errand boy and general assistant. Next morning I entered upon the discharge of my duties, my kind employer showing me what to do and how to do it. Under his supervision I opened and swept out the store, dusted the counter, polished up the glass and nickel-work of the show-cases, and, in a word, made the place ship-shape and tidy for the day. Then we withdrew into the back parlor, and sat down to a fine savory breakfast that the old housekeeper Henrietta had laid there. She ate at table with us, but uttered not a syllable during the repast; and, much to my amazement, Mr. Finkelstein talked to me about her in her very presence as freely and as frankly as if she had been stone deaf, or a hundred miles away.
“She ain't exaictly what you call hainsome, Kraikory,” he said; “but she's as solid as dey make 'em. She was a second cousin of my deceased vife's, and she's vun of de graindest cooks in de United States of America. May be you don't believe it, hey? Vail, you shust vait till some day you eat vun of her big dinners, and den you'll see. I tell you what I do. When Solly gets back from de road I'll invite him and my daughter to dinner here de first Sunday aifternoon, shust on purpose for you to see de vay Henrietta can cook when she really settles down to pusiness. It's simply vunderful. You'll be surprised. De vay she cooks a raisined fish, sveet and sour—ach! it makes my mout vater shust to tink of it. Vail, she's awfulgoot-hearted-too, Kraikory; but so old—du lieber Herr!You couldn't hardly believe it. It's fearful, it's aictually fearful. Why, she's old enough to be my mudder, and I'm going on sixty-seven already. Dot's a solemn faict.”
“Is she deaf?” I asked.
“Daif?” he repeated. “Vail, my kracious! What put dot idea in your head? What in de vorld made you tink she's daif? She ain't no more daif as you are yourself.”
“Why,” I explained, “I thought she might be deaf, because she doesn't seem to notice what you're saying about her.”
“Oh! Vail, dot beats de deck. Dot's pretty goot. O, no! dot ain't becoase she's daif, Kraikory; dot's becoase she's so funny. She's vun of de funniest ladies in de city of New York. Why, look at here; she's lived in dis country going on forty years already; and she's so funny dot she ain't learned ten vorts of de English lainguage yet. Dot's as true as I'm alife. She don't understand what me and you are talking about, no more as if we spoke Spainish.”
After we had folded our napkins, “Vail, now, Kraikory,” began Mr. Finkelstein, “dis morning you got a lesson in being sheneral assistant already, don't you? Vail, now I give you a lesson in being errant boy. Come along mit me.” He led me to the front door of the shop, and, pointing to a house across the street, resumed, “You see dot peelding ofer dere, what's got de sign out, Ferdinand Flisch, photo-graipher? You see it all right, hey? Vail, now I tell you what you do. You run along ofer dere, and you climb up to de top floor, which is where Mr. Flisch's estaiblishment is situated, and you aisk to see Mr. Flisch, and you say to him, 'Mr. Flisch, Mr. Finkelstein sents you his coampliments, and chaillenges you to come ofer and play a little game of pinochle mit him dis morning'—you understand? Vail, now run along.”
Following Mr. Finkelstein's instructions, I mounted to the top story of the house across the way, and opened a door upon which the name Flisch was emblazoned in large gilt script. This door admitted me to a small ante-room; carpeted, furnished with a counter, several chairs, and a sofa, hung all round the walls with framed photographs, presumably specimens of Mr. Flisch's art, and smelling unpleasantly of the chemicals that photographers employ. A very pretty and very tiny little girl, who couldn't have been a day older than I, if she was so old, sat behind the counter, reading a book. At my entrance, she glanced up; and her eyes, which were large and dark, seemed to ask me what I wished.
“Please, I should like to see Mr. Flisch,” I replied to her tacit question.
“I'll go call him,” said she, in a voice that was as sweet as the tinkle of a bell. “Won't you sit down?” And she left the room.
In a minute or two she came back, followed by a short, plump, red-faced, bald-pated little old gentleman, with a brisk and cheery manner, who, upon seeing me, demanded, “Well, Sonny, what you want?”
I delivered the message that Mr. Finkel-stein had charged me with, and Mr. Flisch responded, “All right. I'll come right along with you now.” So in his company I recrossed the street. On the way he remarked, “Well, Sonny, I guess I never seen you before, did I? Was you visiting by Mr. Finkelstein, perhaps?”
“O, no, sir!” I answered, and proceeded to explain my status in Mr. Finkelstein's household.
“Well, Sonny, you'll have a mighty easy time of it,” Mr. Flisch informed me. “You won't die of hard work. Mr. Finkelstein don't do no business. He don't need to. He only keeps that store for fun.”
“Now, Kraikory,” said my employer, when we had reached his door, “me and Mr. Flisch, we'll go in de parlor and play a little game of pinochle togedder; and now you sit down outside here in de store; and if any customers come, you call me.”
I sat in the store, with nothing to do, all the rest of the forenoon; but, idle though I was, the time passed quickly enough. What between looking out of the window at the busy life upon the street—a spectacle of extreme novelty and interest to me—and thinking about my own affairs and the great change that had suddenly come over them, my mind had plenty to occupy it; and I was quite surprised when all at once the clocks, of which there must have been at least a dozen in the shop, began to strike twelve. Thus far not one customer had presented himself. Just at this instant, however, the shop door opened, and the bell above it sounded. I got up to go and call Mr. Finkelstein; but when I looked at the person who had entered, I saw that it was no customer, after all. It was that same pretty little girl whom I had noticed behind the counter at Mr. Flisch's.
“I came to tell Mr. Flisch that his dinner is ready,” she announced, in that clear, sweet voice of hers.
“I'll go tell him,” said I.
I went into the back room, where the air was blue with tobacco smoke, and where the two old gentlemen were seated over their cards, and spoke to Mr. Flisch.
“All right, Sonny; I come right away,” he answered; and I returned to the store.
The little girl was still there, standing where I had left her.
“Mr. Flisch will come right away,” said I.
“Thank you,” said she.
And then, with undisguised curiosity, she and I just stood and scanned each other for a moment from the corners of our eyes. For my part, I was too bashful to make any advances, though I should have liked to scrape acquaintance with her; but she, apparently, had more courage, for, pretty soon, “What's your name?” she asked.
“My name is Gregory Brace. What's yours?”
“Mine is Rosalind Earle. How old are you?”
“I'm twelve, going on thirteen.”
“I'm eleven, going on twelve.”
And the next instant she had vanished like a flash.
Mr. Flisch shortly followed her; and it may have been a quarter of an hour later on, that my attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of music issuing from the back room, where Mr. Finkelstein remained alone. I recognized the tune as the Carnival of Venice; and it brought my heart into my mouth, for that was one of the tunes that my grandmother had used to play upon her piano. But now the instrument was not a piano. Unless my ears totally deceived me, it was a hand-organ. This struck me as very odd; and I went to the door of the parlor, and looked in. There sat Mr. Finkelstein, a newspaper open before him, and a cigar between his fingers, reading and smoking; while on the floor in front of him, surely enough, stood a hand-organ; and, with his foot upon the crank of it, he was operating the instrument just as you would operate the wheel of a bicycle.