Elkan Lubliner, American. Glass Montague

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СКАЧАТЬ retorted. "Well, all I can say is he is a thief and his whole family is thieves, the one worser as the other."

      Marcus glowered at his partner.

      "You should be careful what you are speaking about," he said. "Maybe you ain't aware that this here boy's grandfather on his father's side was Reb Mosha, the big Lubliner Rav, a Chosid and a Tzadek if ever there was one."

      "What difference does that make?" Philip demanded. "He is stealing my brother-in-law's passage ticket anyhow."

      "I didn't steal it," the former Joseph Borrochson cried. "My father paid him good money for it, because Borrochson says he wanted it to marry the widow with; and you also I am paying a hundred dollars."

      "Yow! Your father paid him good money for it!" Philip jeered. "A Ganef like your father is stealing the money, too, I bet yer."

      "Oser a Stück," Polatkin declared. "I am sending him the money myself to help bury his aunt, Mrs. Lebowitz."

      "You sent him the money?" Philip cried. "And your own partner you didn't tell nothing about it at all!"

      "What is it your business supposing I am sending money to the old country?" Marcus retorted. "Do you ask me an advice when you are sending away money to the old country?"

      "But the feller didn't bury his aunt at all," Philip said.

      "Yes, he did too," the former Joseph Borrochson protested. "Instead of a hundred dollars the funeral only costs fifty. Anybody could make an overestimate. Ain't it?"

      Marcus nodded.

      "The boy is right, Philip," he said, "and anyhow what does this loafer come butting in here for?"

      As he spoke he indicated Meyer Gifkin with a jerk of the chin.

      "He ain't butting in here," Philip declared; "he comes in here because I told him to. I want you should make an end of this nonsense, Polatkin, and hire a decent assistant cutter. Gifkin is willing to come back for twenty dollars a week."

      "He is, is he?" Marcus cried. "Well, if he was willing to come back for twenty dollars a week why didn't he come back before? Now it's too late; I got other plans. Besides, twenty dollars is too much."

      "You know very well why I ain't come back before, Mr. Polatkin," Gifkin protested. "I was afraid for my life from that murderer Borrochson."

      Philip scowled suddenly.

      "My partner is right, Gifkin," he said. "Twenty dollars is too much."

      "No, it ain't," Gifkin declared. "If I would be still working for you, Mr. Scheikowitz, I would be getting more as twenty dollars by now. And was it my fault you are firing me? By rights I should have sued you in the courts yet."

      "What d'ye mean sue us in the courts?" Philip exclaimed. He was growing increasingly angry, but Gifkin heeded no warning.

      "Because you are firing me just for saying a crook is a crook," Gifkin replied, "and here lately you found out for yourself this here Borrochson is nothing but a Schwindler—a Ganef."

      "What are you talking about—a Schwindler?" Philip cried, now thoroughly aroused. "Ain't you heard the boy says Borrochson is marrying the landlord's widow? Could a man get married on wind, Gifkin?"

      "Yow! he married the landlord's widow!" Gifkin said. "I bet yer that crook gambles away the money; and, anyhow, could you believe anything this here boy tells you, Mr. Scheikowitz?"

      The question fell on deaf ears, however, for at the repetition of the word crook Philip flung open the office door.

      "Out of here," he roared, "before I kick you out."

      Simultaneously Marcus grabbed the luckless Gifkin by the collar, and just what occurred between the office and the stairs could be deduced from the manner in which Marcus limped back to the office.

      "Gott sei Dank we are rid of the fellow," he said as he came in.

      Although Philip Scheikowitz arrived at his place of business at half-past seven the following morning he found that Marcus and Elkan Lubliner had preceded him, for when he entered the showroom Marcus approached with a broad grin on his face and pointed to the cutting room, where stood Elkan Lubliner. In the boy's right hand was clutched a pair of cutter's shears, and guided by chalked lines he was laboriously slicing up a roll of sample paper.

      "Ain't he a picture?" Marcus exclaimed.

      "A picture!" Philip repeated. "What d'ye mean a picture?"

      "Why, the way he stands there with them shears, Philip," Marcus replied. "He's really what you could call a born cutter if ever there was one."

      "A cutter!" Philip cried.

      "Sure," Marcus went on. "It's never too soon for a young feller to learn all sides of his trade, Philip. He's been long enough on the stock. Now he should learn to be a cutter, and I bet yer in six months' time yet he would be just so good a cutter as anybody."

      Philip was too dazed to make any comment before Marcus obtained a fresh start.

      "A smart boy like him, Philip, learns awful quick," he said. "Ain't it funny how blood shows up? Now you take a boy like him which he comes from decent, respectable family, Philip, and he's got real gumption. I think I told you his grandfather on his father's side was a big rabbi, the Lubliner Rav."

      Philip nodded.

      "And even if I didn't told you," Marcus went on, "you could tell it from his face."

      Again Philip nodded.

      "And another thing I want to talk to you about," Marcus said, hastening after him: "the hundred dollars the boy gives you you should keep, Philip. And if you are spending more than that on the boy I would make it good."

      Philip dug down absently into his trousers pocket and brought forth the roll of dirty bills.

      "Take it," he said, throwing it toward his partner. "I don't want it."

      "What d'ye mean you don't want it?" Marcus cried.

      "I mean I ain't got no hard feelings against the boy," Philip replied. "I am thinking it over all night, and I come to the conclusion so long as I started in being the boy's uncle I would continue that way. So you should put the money in the savings bank like I says yesterday."

      "But——" Marcus protested.

      "But nothing," Philip interrupted. "Do what I am telling you."

      Marcus blinked hard and cleared his throat with a great, rasping noise.

      "After all," he said huskily, "it don't make no difference how many crooks oder Ganevim is in a feller's family, Philip, so long as he's got a good, straight business man for a partner."

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