Part 12 (1/2)

”I shouldn't wonder,” the stranger continued. ”At the time, I was working by old man Baum right across from Gifkin's. He was my uncle already.”

”You are old man Baum's nephew!” Abe exclaimed. ”How could that be? Old man Baum only got one brother, Nathan, which he got mixed up in a railroad accident near Knoxville. He was always up to some monkey business, that feller, _olav hasholom_.”

”Sure, I know,” the stranger continued; ”but old man Baum got also one sister, my mother, Mrs. Gershon. You must remember my father, Sam Gershon. Works for years by Richter as a cutter. My name is Mr. Max Gershon.”

”Why, sure I do!” Abe said, shaking hands with his new-found acquaintance. ”So you are a son of old man Gershon? Do you live here in New York, Mr. Gershon?”

”No; I live in Johnsville, Texas,” Mr. Gershon replied. ”This is my first visit North in twenty-five years. Yes, Mr.--er----”

”Potash,” Abe said.

”Mr. Potash,” Gershon continued, ”I'm feeling pretty lonesome, I can tell you. All my folks is dead: my father, my mother, my two uncles; and there ain't a soul here in New York which remembers me at all.”

”Is that so?” Abe commented, with ready sympathy.

”Yes, Mr. Potash,” Gershon said, ”when I was a boy I done a fool thing.

When I was sixteen years old already I run away from home because my father licked me; and I never wrote to 'em or sent no word to 'em until it was too late. You see, up to five years since, I didn't done so good.

Everything seemed to went against me, Mr. Potash; but lately I am doing a fine business for a small place like Johnsville, and to-day I got the best store down there.”

”You don't say so!” Abe cried.

”So I thought last month, instead I would go to Dallas or Forth Worth like I usually done, I would come straight on to New York and not only buy my fall goods but also give the old folks a surprise. And what do I find? Everybody is dead.”

Mr. Gershon pressed a handkerchief to his eyes.

”You shouldn't take on so,” Abe said, leaning across the table and placing his hand on Gershon's arm. ”It's the way of the world, Mr.

Gershon, and I could a.s.sure you we got the finest line of garments in our store, which it is first-cla.s.s stuff, up to the minute, and prices and everything just right.”

Mr. Gershon wiped his eyes.

”You must excuse me, Mr. Potash,” he said. ”My feelings is got the better of me.”

”That's all right,” Abe murmured. ”Here is our card, and you should positively come up to see us. Even if you wouldn't buy from us a b.u.t.ton, Mr. Gershon, it would be a pleasure for us to see you in our place.”

”I would sure be there,” Mr. Gershon said as he pocketed the card.

”Waiter,” Abe called, ”put this here gentleman's check on mine and bring us two of them thirty-cent cigars.”

So eagerly did Morris await the advent of Uncle Mosha Kronberg in Potash & Perlmutter's store that he even omitted to notice his partner's prolonged absence at lunch; and when Abe returned to unfold the narrative of his meeting with a prospective customer Morris heard it without interest.

”The feller is A number one, Mawruss,” Abe said. ”I stopped off to see Sam Feder at the Koscius...o...b..nk, and Sam sent me to the a.s.sociated Information Bureau. He is rated twenty to thirty thousand; credit good.”

”Yes?” Morris replied. ”Tell me, Abe, did Mosha Kronberg say just when he would be here?”

”What are you wasting your time about Mosha Kronberg for?” Abe retorted.

”We got enough to do we should pick out a few good styles to show Gershon.”