"I'll tell you the truth, Mr. Kapfer," Elkan began, "I would like to ask you an advice about something."
"Go as far as you like," Kapfer replied. "It don't make no difference if a feller would be broke oder in jail, he could always give somebody advice."
"Well, it's like this," Elkan said, and forthwith he unfolded the circumstances attending his return from Bridgetown.
"Nu!" Kapfer commented when Elkan concluded his narrative. "What is that for something to worry about?"
"But the idee of the thing is wrong," Elkan protested. "In the first place, I got lots of time to get married, on account I am only twenty-one, Mr. Kapfer; and though a feller couldn't start in too early in business, Mr. Kapfer, getting married is something else again. To my mind a feller should be anyhow twenty-five before he jumps right in and gets married."
"With some people, yes, and others, no," Kapfer rejoined.
"And in the second place," Elkan went on, "I don't like this here Shadchen business. We are living in America, not Russland; and in America if a feller gets married he don't need no help from a Shadchen, Mr. Kapfer."
"No," Kapfer said, "he don't need no help, Lubliner; but, just the same, if some one would come to me any time these five years and says to me, here is something a nice girl, understand me, with five thousand dollars, y'understand, I would have been married schon long since already." He cleared his throat judicially and sat back in his chair until it rested against the wall. "The fact is, Lubliner," he said, "you are acting like a fool. What harm would it do supposing you would go up there to-night with this here Rashkind?"
"What, and go there to-morrow night with Fischko!" Elkan exclaimed. "Besides, if I would go up there to-night with Rashkind and the deal is closed, understand me, might Fischko would sue Mr. Scheikowitz in the court yet."
"Not at all," Kapfer declared. "Fischko couldn't sue nobody but B. Maslik; so never mind waiting here for dinner. Hustle uptown and keep your date with Rashkind." He shook Elkan by the hand. "Good luck to you, Lubliner," he concluded heartily; "and if you got the time stop in on your way down to-morrow morning and let me know how you come out."
When Elkan Lubliner arrived at the corner of One Hundred and Twentieth Street and Lenox Avenue that evening, it might well be supposed that he would have difficulty in recognizing Mr. Rashkind, since neither he nor Rashkind had any previous acquaintance. However, he accosted without hesitation a short, stout person arrayed in a wrinkled frock coat and wearing the white tie and gold spectacles that invariably garb the members of such quasi-clerical professions as a Shadchen, a sexton or the collector of subscriptions for a charitable institution. Indeed, as Rashkind combined all three of these callings with the occupation of a real-estate broker, he also sported a high silk hat of uncertain vintage and a watch-chain bearing a Masonic emblem approximating in weight and size a tailor's goose.
"This is Mr. Rashkind, ain't it?" Elkan asked, and Rashkind bowed solemnly.
"My name is Mr. Lubliner," Elkan continued, "and Mr. Polatkin says you would be here at eight."
For answer Mr. Rashkind drew from his waistcoat pocket what appeared to be a six-ounce boxing glove, but which subsequently proved to be the chamois covering of his gold watch, the gift of Rambam Lodge, No. 142, I. O. M. A. This Mr. Rashkind consulted with knit brows.
"That's right," he said, returning the watch and its covering to his pocket – "eight o'clock to the minute; so I guess we would just so well go round to B. Maslik's house if you ain't got no objections."
"I'm agreeable," Elkan said; "but, before we start, you should please be so good and tell me what I must got to do."
"What you must got to do?" Rashkind exclaimed. "A question! You mustn't got to do nothing. Act natural and leave the rest to me."
"But," Elkan insisted as they proceeded down Lenox Avenue, "shouldn't I say something to the girl?"
"Sure, you should say something to the girl," Rashkind replied; "but, if you couldn't find something to say to a girl like Miss Birdie Maslik, all I could tell you is you're a bigger Schlemiel than you look."
With this encouraging ultimatum, Mr. Rashkind entered the portals of a hallway that glittered with lacquered bronze and plaster porphyry, and before Elkan had time to ask any more questions he found himself seated with Mr. Rashkind in the front parlour of a large apartment on the seventh floor.
"Mr. Maslik says you should be so good and step into the dining room," the maid said to Mr. Rashkind. Forthwith he rose to his feet and left Elkan alone in the room, save for the presence of the maid, who drew down the shades and smiled encouragingly on Elkan.
"Ain't it a fine weather?" she asked.
Elkan looked up, and he could not resist smiling in return.
"Elegant," he replied. "It don't seem like summer was ever going to quit."
"It couldn't last too long for me," the maid continued. "Might some people would enjoy cold weather maybe; but when it comes to going up on the roof, understand me, and hanging out a big wash, the summer is good enough for me."
Elkan gazed for a moment at her oval face, with its kindly, intelligent brown eyes.
"You mean to say you got to do washing here?" he asked in shocked accents.
"Sure I do," she replied; "aber this winter I am going to night school again and next summer might I would get a job as bookkeeper maybe."
"But why don't you get a job in a store somewheres?" he asked.
"I see myself working in a store all day, standing on my feet yet, and when I get through all my wages goes for board!" she replied. "Whereas, here I got anyhow a good room and board, and all what I earn I could put away in savings bank. I worked in a store long enough, Mr. – "
"Lubliner," Elkan said.
" – Mr. Lubliner; and I could assure you I would a whole lot sooner do housework," she went on. "Why should a girl think it's a disgrace she should do housework for a living is more as I could tell you. Sooner or later a girl gets married, and then she must got to do her own housework."
"Not if her husband makes a good living," Elkan suggested.
"Sure, I know," she rejoined; "but how many girls which they are working in stores gets not a rich man, understand me, but a man which is only making, say, for example, thirty dollars a week. The most that a poor girl expects is that she marries a poor man, y'understand, and then they work their way up together."
Elkan nodded. Unconsciously he was indorsing not so much the matter as the manner of her conversation, for she spoke with the low voice that distinguishes the Rumanian from the Pole or Lithuanian.
"You are coming from Rumania, ain't it?" Elkan asked.
"Pretty near there," the maid replied. "Right on the border. I am coming here an orphan five years ago; and – "
"Nu, Lubliner," cried a rasping voice from the doorway, "we got our appointment for nothing – Miss Maslik is sick."
"That's too bad," Elkan said perfunctorily.
"Only a little something she eats gives her a headache," Rashkind went on. "We could come round the day after to-morrow night."
"That's too bad also," Elkan commented, "on account the day after to-morrow night I got a date with a customer."
"Well, anyhow, B. Maslik would be in in a minute and – "
Elkan rose to his feet so abruptly that he nearly sent his chair through a cabinet behind him.
"If I want to be here Friday night," he said, "I must see my customer to-night yet; so, young lady, if you would be so kind to tell Mr. Maslik I couldn't wait, but would be here Friday night with this here – now – gentleman. Come on, Rashkind."
He started for the hall door almost on a run, with Rashkind gesticulating excitedly behind him; but, before the Shadchen could even grasp his coattails he had let himself hurriedly out and was taking the stairs three at a jump.
"Hey!" Rashkind shouted as he plunged down the steps after Elkan. "What's the matter with you? Don't you want to meet Mr. Maslik?"
Elkan only hurried the faster, however, for in the few minutes he had been alone in the room with the little brown-eyed maid he had made the discovery that marriage with the aid of a Shadchen was impossible for him. Simultaneously he conceived the notion that marriage without the aid of a Shadchen might after all be well worth trying; and, as this idea loomed in his mind, his pace slackened until the Shadchen overtook him at the corner of One Hundred and Sixteenth Street.
"Say, lookyhere, Lubliner!" Rashkind said. "What is the matter with you anyway?"
Elkan professed to misunderstand the question.
"I've lost my address book," he said. "I had it in my hand when you left me alone there and I must of forgotten it; so I guess I'll go back and get it."
"All right," Rashkind replied. "I'll go with you."
Elkan wheeled round and glared viciously at the Shadchen.
"You'll do nothing of the kind!" he roared. "You get right down them subway steps or I wouldn't come up with you Friday night."
"But what harm – " Rashkind began, when Elkan seized him by the shoulder and led him firmly downstairs to the ticket office. There Elkan bought a ticket and, dropping it in the chopper's box, he pushed Rashkind on to the platform. A few minutes later a downtown express bore the Shadchen away and Elkan ascended the stairs in three tremendous bounds. Unwaveringly he started up the street for B. Maslik's apartment house, where, by the simple expedient of handing the elevator boy a quarter, he averted the formality of being announced. Thus, when he rang the doorbell of B. Maslik's flat, though it was opened by the little brown-eyed maid in person, she had discarded the white apron and cap that she had worn a few minutes before, and her hair was fluffed up in becoming disorder.
"You was telling me you are coming originally from somewheres near Rumania," Elkan began without further preface, "and – why, what's the matter? You've been crying?"
She put her fingers to her lips and closed the door softly behind her. "They says I didn't got no business talking to you at all," she replied, "and they called me down something terrible!"
Elkan's eyes flashed angrily.
"Who calls you down?" he demanded.
"Mr. and Mrs. Maslik," she answered; "and they says I ain't got no shame at all!"
She struggled bravely to retain her composure; but just one little half-strangled sob escaped her, and forthwith Elkan felt internally a peculiar sinking sensation.
"What do they mean you ain't got no shame?" he protested. "I got a right to talk to you and you got a right to talk to me – ain't it?"
She nodded and sobbed again, whereat Elkan winced and dug his nails into the palms of his hands.
"Listen!" he pleaded. "Don't worry yourself at all. After this I wouldn't got no use for them people. I didn't come here on my own account in the first place, but – "
Here he paused.
"But what?" the little maid asked.
"But I'm glad I came now," Elkan went on defiantly, "and I don't care who knows it. Wir sind alles Jehudim, anyhow, and one is just as good as the other."
"Better even," she said. "What was B. Maslik in the old country? He could oser sign his name when he came here, while I am anyhow from decent, respectable people, Mr. Lubliner."
"I don't doubt it," Elkan replied.
"My father was a learned man, Mr. Lubliner; but that don't save him. One day he goes to Kishinef on business, Mr. Lubliner, and – "
Here her composure entirely forsook her and she covered her face with her hands and wept. Elkan struggled with himself no longer. He took the little maid in his arms; and, as it seemed the most natural thing in the world to do, she laid her head against his shoulder and had her whole cry out.
Elkan spoke no word, but patted her shoulder gently with his right hand.
"I guess I'm acting like a baby, Mr. Lubliner," she said, after a quarter of an hour had elapsed. To Elkan it seemed like an acquaintance of many months as he clasped her more closely.
"My name is Elkan, Liebchen," he said, "and we would send all the heavy washing out."
"Well, Lubliner," Kapfer cried as Elkan came into the café of the Prince Clarence the following morning, "you didn't like her – what?"
"Didn't like her!" Elkan exclaimed. "What d'ye mean I didn't like her?"
"Why, the way you look, I take it you had a pretty rotten time last night," Kapfer rejoined.
"What are you talking about – rotten time?" Elkan protested. "The only thing is I feel so happy I didn't sleep a wink, that's all."
Kapfer jumped to his feet and slapped Elkan on the shoulder.
"Do you mean you're engaged!" he asked.
"Sure!" Elkan replied.
"Then I congradulate you a thousand times," Kapfer said gleefully.
"Once is plenty," Elkan replied.
"No, it ain't," Kapfer rejoined. "You should got to be congradulated more as you think, because this morning I am talking to a feller in the clothing business here and he says B. Maslik is richer as most people believe. The feller says he is easy worth a quarter of a million dollars."
"What's that got to do with it?" Elkan asked.
"What's that got to do with it?" Kapfer repeated. "Why, it's got everything to do with it, considering you are engaged to his only daughter."
"I am engaged to his only daughter? Who told you that, Mr. Kapfer?"
"Why, you did!" Kapfer said.
"I never said nothing of the kind," Elkan declared, "because I ain't engaged to Miss Maslik at all; in fact, I never even seen her."
Kapfer gazed earnestly at Elkan and then sat down suddenly.
"Say, lookyhere, Lubliner," he said. "Are you crazy or am I? Last night you says you are going up with a Shadchen to see Birdie Maslik, and now you tell me you are engaged, but not to Miss Maslik."
"That's right," Elkan replied.
"Then who in thunder are you engaged to?"
"That's just the point," Elkan said, as he passed his hand through his hair. "I ain't slept a wink all night on account of it; in fact, this morning I wondered should I go round there and ask – and then I thought to myself I would get from you an advice first."
"Get from me an advice!" Kapfer exclaimed. "You mean you are engaged to a girl and you don't know her name, and so you come down here to ask me an advice as to how you should find out her name?"
Elkan nodded sadly and leaned his elbow on the table.
"It's like this," he said; and for more than half an hour he regaled Kapfer with a story that, stripped of descriptive and irrelevant material concerning Elkan's own feelings in the matter, ought to have taken only five minutes in the telling.
"And that's the way it is, Mr. Kapfer," Elkan concluded. "I don't know her name; but a poor little girl like her, which she is so good – and so – and so – "
Here he became all choked up and Kapfer handed him a cigar.
"Don't go into that again, Lubliner," Kapfer said; "you told me how good she is six times already. The point is you are in a hole and you want me I should help you out – ain't it?"
Elkan nodded wearily.
"Well, then, my advice to you is: Stiegen," Kapfer continued. "Don't say a word about this to nobody until you would, anyhow, find out the girl's name."
"I wasn't going to," Elkan replied; "but there's something else, Mr. Kapfer. To-night I am to meet this here other Shadchen by the name Fischko, who is going to take me up to Maslik's house."
"But I thought Miss Maslik was sick," Kapfer said.
"She was sick," Elkan answered, "but she would be better by to-night. So that's the way it stands. If I would go downtown now and explain to Mr. Scheikowitz that I am not going up there to-night and that I was there last night – and – " Here Elkan paused and made an expressive gesture with both hands. "The fact is," he almost whimpered, "the whole thing is such a Mischmasch I feel like I was going crazy!"
Kapfer leaned across the table and patted him consolingly on the arm.
"Don't make yourself sick over it," he advised. "Put it up to Polatkin. You don't got to keep Scheikowitz's idee a secret now, Lubliner, because sooner or later Polatkin must got to find it out. So you should let Polatkin know how you was up there last night, and that Rashkind wants you to go up there Friday night on account Miss Maslik was sick, and leave it to Polatkin to flag Scheikowitz and this here Fischko."
"But – " Elkan began, when the strange expression of Kapfer's face made him pause. Indeed, before he could proceed further, Kapfer jumped up from his chair.
"Cheese it!" he said. "Here comes Polatkin."
As he spoke, Polatkin caught sight of them and almost ran across the room.
"Elkan!" he exclaimed. "Gott sei Dank I found you here."
"What's the matter?" Elkan asked.
Polatkin drew forward a chair and they all sat down.
"I just had a terrible fuss with Scheikowitz," he said. "This morning, when I got downtown, I thought I would tell him what I brought you back for; so I says to him: 'Philip,' I says, 'I want to tell you something,' I says. 'I got an elegant Shidduch for Elkan.'" He stopped and let his hand fall with a loud smack on his thigh. "Oo-ee!" he exclaimed. "What a row that feller made it! You would think, Elkan, I told him I got a pistol to shoot you with, the way he acts. I didn't even got the opportunity to tell him who the Shidduch was. He tells me I should mind my own business and calls me such names which honestly I wouldn't call a shipping clerk even. And what else d'ye think he says?"
Elkan and Kapfer shook their heads.
"Why, he says that to-night, at eight o'clock, he himself is going to have a Shadchen by the name Fischko take you up to see a girl in Harlem which the name he didn't tell me at all; but he says she's got five thousand dollars a dowry. Did he say to you anything about it, Elkan?"
"The first I hear of it!" Elkan replied in husky tones as he averted his eyes from Polatkin. "Why, I wouldn't know the feller Fischko if he stood before me now, and he wouldn't know me neither."
"Didn't he tell you her name?" Kapfer asked cautiously.
"No," Polatkin replied, "because I says right away that the girl I had in mind would got a dowry of five thousand too; and then and there Scheikowitz gets so mad he smashes a chair on us – one of them new ones we just bought, Elkan. So I didn't say nothing more, but I rung up Rashkind right away and asks him how things turns out, and he says nothing is settled yet."
Elkan nodded guiltily.
"So I got an idee," Polatkin continued. "I thought, Elkan, we would do this: Don't come downtown to-day at all, and to-night I would go up and meet Fischko and tell him you are practically engaged and the whole thing is off. Also I would schenk the feller a ten-dollar bill he shouldn't bother us again."
Elkan grasped the edge of the table. He felt as if consciousness were slipping away from him, when suddenly Kapfer emitted a loud exclamation.
"By jiminy!" he cried. "I got an idee! Why shouldn't I go up there and meet this here Fischko?"
"You go up there?" Polatkin said.
"Sure; why not? A nice girl like Miss – whatever her name is – ain't too good for me, Mr. Polatkin. I got a good business there in Bridgetown, and – "
"But I don't know what for a girl she is at all," Polatkin protested.
"She's got anyhow five thousand dollars," Kapfer retorted, "and when a girl's got five thousand dollars, Mr. Polatkin, beauty ain't even skin-deep."
"Sure, I know," Polatkin agreed; "but so soon as you see Fischko and tell him you ain't Elkan Lubliner he would refuse to take you round to see the girl at all."
"Leave that to me," Kapfer declared. "D'ye know what I'll tell him?" He looked hard at Elkan Lubliner before he continued. "I'll tell him," he said, "that Elkan is already engaged."
"Already engaged!" Polatkin cried.
"Sure!" Kapfer said – "secretly engaged unbeknownst to everybody."
"But right away to-morrow morning Fischko would come down and tell Scheikowitz that you says Elkan is secretly engaged, and Scheikowitz would know the whole thing was a fake and that I am at the bottom of it."
"No, he wouldn't," Kapfer rejoined, "because Elkan would then and there say that he is secretly engaged and that would let you out."
"Sure it would," Polatkin agreed; "and then Scheikowitz would want to kill Elkan."
Suddenly Elkan struck the table with his clenched fist.
"I've got the idee!" he said. "I wouldn't come downtown till Saturday – because we will say, for example, I am sick. Then, when Fischko says I am secretly engaged, you can say you don't know nothing about it; and by the time I come down on Saturday morning I would be engaged all right, and nobody could do nothing any more."
"That's true too," Kapfer said, "because your date with Rashkind is for to-morrow night and by Saturday the whole thing would be over."
Polatkin nodded doubtfully, but after a quarter of an hour's earnest discussion he was convinced of the wisdom of Elkan's plan.
"All right, Elkan," he said at last. "Be down early on Saturday."
"Eight o'clock sure," Elkan replied as he shook Polatkin's hand; "and by that time I hope you'll congratulate me on my engagement."
"I hope so," Polatkin said.
"Me too," Kapfer added after Polatkin departed; "and I also hope, Elkan, this would be a warning to you that the next time you get engaged you should find out the girl's name in advance."
"Yes, siree, sir," said Charles Fischko emphatically, albeit a trifle thickly. "I guess you made a big hit there, Mr. Kapfer, and I don't think I am acting previously when I drink to the health of Mrs. Kapfer." He touched glasses with Max Kapfer, who sat opposite to him at a secluded table in the Harlem Winter Garden, flanked by two bottles of what had been a choice brand of California champagne. "Née Miss Maslik," he added as he put down his glass; "and I think you are getting a young lady which is not only good-looking but she is got also a heart like gold. Look at the way she treats the servant girl they got there! Honestly, when I was round there this morning them two girls was talking like sisters already!"
"That's all right," Kapfer rejoined; "she's got a right to treat that girl like a sister. She's a nice little girl – that servant girl."
"Don't I know it!" Fischko protested as he poured himself out another glass of wine. "It was me that got her the job there two years ago already; and before I would recommend to a family like B. Maslik's a servant girl, understand me, I would make sure she comes from decent, respectable people. Also the girl is a wonderful cook, Mr. Kapfer, simple, plain, everyday dish like gefüllte Hechte, Mr. Kapfer; she makes it like it would be roast goose already – so fine she cooks it. She learned it from her mother, Mr. Kapfer, also a wonderful cook. Why, would you believe it, Mr. Kapfer, that girl's own mother and me comes pretty near being engaged to be married oncet?"
"You don't say!" Kapfer commented.
"That was from some years ago in the old country already," Fischko continued; "and I guess I ought to be lucky I didn't do so, on account she marries a feller by the name Silbermacher, olav hasholem, which he is got the misfortune to get killed in Kishinef. Poor Mrs. Silbermacher, she didn't live long, and the daughter, Yetta, comes to America an orphan five years ago. Ever since then the girl looks out for herself; and so sure as you are sitting there she's got in savings bank already pretty near eight hundred dollars."
"Is that so?" Kapfer interrupted.
"Yes, sir," Fischko replied; "and when she is got a thousand, understand me, I would find for her a nice young man, Mr. Kapfer, which he is got anyhow twenty-five machines a contracting shop, y'understand, and she will get married und fertig. With such good friends which I got it like Polatkin & Scheikowitz, I could throw a little business their way, and the first thing you know she is settled for life."
Here Fischko drained his glass and reached out his hand toward the bottle; but Kapfer anticipated the move and emptied the remainder of the wine into his own glass.
"Before I order another bottle, Fischko," he said, "I would like to talk a little business with you."
"Never mind another bottle," Fischko said. "I thought we was through with our business for the evening."
"With our business, yes," Kapfer announced; "but this story which you are telling me about Miss Silbermacher interests me, Fischko, and I know a young feller which he is got more as twenty-five machines a contracting shop; in fact, Fischko, he is a salesman which he makes anyhow his fifty to seventy-five dollars a week, and he wants to get married bad."
"He couldn't want to get married so bad as all that," Fischko commented, "because there's lots of girls which would be only too glad to marry a such a young feller – girls with money even."
"I give you right, Mr. Fischko," Kapfer agreed; "but this young feller ain't the kind that marries for money. What he wants is a nice girl which she is good-looking like this here Miss Silbermacher and is a good housekeeper, understand me; and from what I've seen of Miss Silbermacher she would be just the person."
"What's his name?" Fischko asked.
"His name," said Kapfer, "is Ury Shemansky, a close friend from mine; and I got a date with him at twelve o'clock on the corner drug store at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street that I should tell him how I came out this evening." He seized his hat from an adjoining hook. "So, if you'd wait here a few minutes," he said, "I would go and fetch him right round here. Shall I order another bottle before I go?"
Fischko shook his head.
"I got enough," he said; "and don't be long on account I must be going home soon."
Kapfer nodded, and five minutes later he entered the all-night drug store in question and approached a young man who was seated at the soda fountain. In front of him stood a large glass of "Phospho-Nervino," warranted to be "A Speedy and Reliable Remedy for Nervous Headache, Sleeplessness, Mental Fatigue and Depression following Over-Brainwork"; and as he was about to raise the glass to his lips Kapfer slapped him on the shoulder.
"Cheer up, Elkan," he exclaimed. "Her name is Yetta Silbermacher and she's got in savings bank eight hundred dollars."
"What d'ye mean she's got money in savings bank?" Elkan protested wearily, for the sleepless, brain-fatigued and depressed young man was none other than Elkan Lubliner. "Did you seen her?"
"I did," Kapfer replied; "and Miss Maslik's a fine, lovely girl. The old man ain't so bad either. He treated me elegant and Fischko thinks I made quite a hit there."
"I ain't asking you about Miss Maslik at all," Elkan said. "I mean Miss Silbermacher" – he hesitated and blushed – "Yetta," he continued, and buried his confusion in the foaming glass of "Phospho-Nervino."
"That's just what I want to talk to you about," Kapfer went on. "Did I understand you are telling Polatkin that you never seen Fischko the Shadchen and he never seen you neither?"
"That's right," Elkan replied.
"Then come right down with me to the Harlem Winter Garden," Kapfer said. "I want you to meet him. He ain't a bad sort, even if he would be a Shadchen."
"But what should I want to meet him for?" Elkan cried.
"Because," Kapfer explained, "I am going to marry this here Miss Maslik, Elkan; and I'm going to improve my store property, so that my trade will be worth to Polatkin & Scheikowitz anyhow three thousand dollars a year – ain't it?"
"What's that got to do with it?" Elkan asked.
"It's got this much to do with it," Kapfer continued: "To-morrow afternoon two o'clock I would have Polatkin and Scheikowitz at my room in the Prince Clarence. You also would be there – and d'ye know who else would be there?"
Elkan shook his head.
"Miss Yetta Silbermacher," Kapfer went on; "because I am going to get Fischko to bring her down there to meet an eligible party by the name Ury Shemansky."
"What?" Elkan exclaimed.
"Ssh-sh!" Kapfer cried reassuringly. "I am going to introduce you to Fischko right away as Ury Shemansky, provided he ain't so shikker when I get back that he wouldn't recognize you at all."
Elkan nodded and paid for his restorative, and on their way down to the Harlem Winter Garden they perfected the details of the appointment for the following afternoon.
"The reason why I am getting Fischko to bring her down," Kapfer explained, "is because, in the first place, it looks pretty schlecht that a feller should meet a girl only once and, without the help of a Shadchen, gets right away engaged to her; and so, with Fischko the Shadchen there, it looks better for you both. Furthermore, in the second place, a girl which is doing housework, Elkan, must got to have an excuse, understand me; otherwise she couldn't get away from her work at all."
"But," Elkan said, "how do you expect that Yetta would go with a Shadchen to see this here Ury Shemansky when she is already engaged to me?"
"Schafskopf!" Kapfer exclaimed. "Telephone her the first thing to-morrow morning that you are this here Ury Shemansky and she would come quick enough!"
"That part's all right," Elkan agreed; "but I don't see yet how you are going to get Polatkin and Scheikowitz there."
Kapfer nodded his head with spurious confidence; for of this, perhaps the most important part of his plan, he felt extremely doubtful.
"Leave that to me," he said sagely, and the next moment they entered the Harlem Winter Garden to find Charles Fischko gazing sadly at a solution of bicarbonate of soda and ammonia, a tumblerful of which stood in front of him on the table.
"Mr. Fischko," Kapfer said, "this is my friend Ury Shemansky, the gentleman I was speaking to you about."
"No relation to Shemansky who used to was in the customer pedler business on Ridge Street?" Fischko asked.
"Not as I've heard," Elkan said.
"Because there's a feller, understand me, which he went to work and married a poor girl; and ever since he's got nothing but Mazel. The week afterward he found in the street a diamond ring worth two hundred dollars, and the next month a greenhorn comes over with ten thousand rubles and wants to go as partners together with him in business. In a year's time Shemansky dissolves the partnership and starts in the remnant business with five thousand dollars net capital. He ain't been established two weeks, understand me, when a liquor saloon next door burns out and he gets a thousand dollars smoke damage; and one thing follows another, y'understand, till to-day he's worth easy his fifty thousand dollars. That's what it is to marry a poor girl, Mr. Shemansky." He took a pull at the tumbler of bicarbonate and made an involuntary grimace. "Furthermore, I am knowing this here Miss Silbermacher ever since she is born, pretty nearly!" Fischko cried.