Elkan Lubliner, American. Glass Montague

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ then Polatkin rose to his feet.

      "Flaxberg," he cried, "wait a minute!"

      Flaxberg returned to the office and nonchalantly lit a cigarette.

      "Listen here to me, Flaxberg," Polatkin began. "Take from us a hundred and fifty dollars and quit!"

      Flaxberg continued the operation of lighting his cigarette and blew a great cloud of smoke before replying.

      "What for a piker do you think I am anyhow?" he asked.

      "What d'ye mean – piker?" Polatkin said. "A hundred and fifty ain't to be sneezed at, Flaxberg."

      "Ain't it?" Flaxberg retorted. "Well, with me, I got a more delicate nose as most people, Mr. Polatkin. I sneeze at everything under five hundred dollars – and that's all there is to it."

      Once more he turned on his heel and walked out of the office; but this time his progress toward the stairs was more deliberate, for, despite his defiant attitude, Flaxberg's finances were at low ebb owing to a marked reversal of form exhibited the previous day in the third race at New Orleans. Moreover, he felt confident that a judicious investment of a hundred and fifty dollars would net him that very afternoon at least five hundred dollars, if any reliance were to be placed on the selection of Merlando, the eminent sporting writer of the Morning Wireless.

      Consequently he afforded every opportunity for Marcus to call him back, and he even paused at the factory door and applied a lighted match to his already burning cigarette. The expected summons failed, however, and instead he was nearly precipitated to the foot of the stairs by no less a person than Elkan Lubliner.

      "Excuse me, Mr. Flaxberg," Elkan said. "I ain't seen you at all."

      Flaxberg turned suddenly, but at the sight of Elkan his anger evaporated as he recalled a piece of gossip retailed by Sam Markulies, the shipping clerk, to the effect that, despite his eighteen years, Elkan had at least two savings-bank accounts and kept in his pocket a bundle of bills as large as a roll of piece goods.

      "That's all right," Flaxberg cried with a forced grin. "I ain't surprised you are pretty near blinded when you are coming into the daylight out of the cutting room. It's dark in there like a tomb."

      "I bet yer," Elkan said fervently.

      "You should get into the air more often," Flaxberg went on. "A feller could get all sorts of things the matter with him staying in a hole like that."

      "Gott sei dank I got, anyhow, my health," Elkan commented.

      "Sure, I know," Flaxberg said as they reached the street; "but you must got to take care of it too. A feller which he don't get no exercise should ought to eat well, Lubliner. For instance, I bet yer you are taking every day your lunch in a bakery – ain't it?"

      Elkan nodded.

      "Well, there you are!" Flaxberg cried triumphantly. "A feller works all the time in a dark hole like that cutting room, and comes lunchtime he fresses a bunch of Kuchen and a cup of coffee, verstehst du– and is it any wonder you are looking sick?"

      "I feel all right," Elkan said.

      "I know you feel all right," Flaxberg continued, "but you look something terrible, Lubliner. Just for to-day, Lubliner, take my advice and try Wasserbauer's regular dinner."

      Elkan laughed aloud.

      "Wasserbauer's!" he exclaimed. "Why, what do you think I am, Mr. Flaxberg? If I would be a salesman like you, Mr. Flaxberg, I would say, 'Yes; eat once in a while at Wasserbauer's'; aber for an assistant cutter, Mr. Flaxberg, Wasserbauer's is just so high like the Waldorfer."

      "That's all right," Flaxberg retorted airily. "No one asks you you should pay for it. Come and have a decent meal with me."

      For a brief interval Elkan hesitated, but at length he surrendered, and five minutes later he found himself seated opposite Harry Flaxberg in the rear of Wasserbauer's café.

      "Yes, Mr. Flaxberg," he said as he commenced the fourth of a series of dill pickles, "compared with a salesman, a cutter is a dawg's life – ain't it?"

      "Well," Flaxberg commented, "he is and he isn't. There's no reason why a cutter shouldn't enjoy life too, Lubliner. A cutter could make money on the side just so good as a salesman. I am acquainted already with a pants cutter by the name Schmul Kleidermann which, one afternoon last week, he pulls down two hundred and fifty dollars yet."

      "Pulls down two hundred and fifty dollars!" Elkan exclaimed. "From where he pulls it down, Mr. Flaxberg?"

      "Not from the pants business oser," Flaxberg replied. "The feller reads the papers, Lubliner, and that's how he makes his money."

      "You mean he is speculating in these here stocks from stock exchanges?" Elkan asked.

      "Not stocks," Flaxberg replied in shocked accents. "From spieling the stock markets a feller could lose his shirt yet. Never play the stock markets, Lubliner. That's something which you could really say a feller ruins himself for life with."

      Elkan nodded.

      "Even im Russland it's the same," he said.

      "Sure," Flaxberg went on. "Aber this feller Kleidermann he makes a study of it. The name of the horse was Prince Faithful. On New Year's Day he runs fourth in a field of six. The next week he is in the money for a show with such old-timers as Aurora Borealis, Dixie Lad and Ramble Home – and last week he gets away with it six to one a winner, understand me; and this afternoon yet, over to Judge Crowley's, I could get a price five to two a place, understand me, which it is like picking up money in the street already."

      Elkan paused in the process of commencing the sixth pickle and gazed in wide-eyed astonishment at his host.

      "So you see, Lubliner," Flaxberg concluded, "if you would put up twenty dollars, understand me, you could make fifty dollars more, like turning your hand over."

      Elkan laid down his half-eaten pickle.

      "Do you mean to say you want me I should put up twenty dollars on a horse which it is running with other horses a race?" he exclaimed.

      "Well," Flaxberg replied, "of course, if you got objections to putting up money on a horse, Lubliner, why, don't do it. Lend it me instead the twenty dollars and I would play it; and if the horse should —Gott soll hüten– not be in the money, y'understand, then I would give you the twenty dollars back Saturday at the latest. Aber if the horse makes a place, understand me, then I would give you your money back this afternoon yet and ten dollars to boot."

      For one wavering moment Elkan raised the pickle to his lips and then replaced it on the table. Then he licked off his fingers and explored the recess of his waistcoat pocket.

      "Here," he said, producing a dime – "here is for the dill pickles, Mr. Flaxberg."

      "What d'ye mean?" Flaxberg cried.

      "I mean this," Elkan said, putting on his hat – "I mean you should save your money with me and blow instead your friend Kleidermann to dinner, because the proposition ain't attractive."

      "Yes, Mr. Redman," Elkan commented when he resumed his duties as assistant cutter after the five and a half dill pickles had been supplemented with a hasty meal of rolls and coffee, "for a Schlemiel like him to call himself a salesman – honestly, СКАЧАТЬ