Part 13 (1/2)

”It was my own money, Aaron,” he said. ”I didn't stole it.”

”This ain't no time for making jokes, Uncle Mosha,” Aaron retorted. ”Who was it you was going to sell the house to?”

”Maybe you know him,” Uncle Mosha said. ”It's a feller by the name Mawruss Perlmutter.”

Aaron Kronberg's pallor gave way to a flood of crimson, and for a moment he choked incoherently as he gazed at Uncle Mosha in amazement.

”Why, that feller Perlmutter is a friend of Alex,” he gasped at length.

”Sure, I know,” Uncle Mosha replied; ”but even if he is a friend of Alex his money ain't counterfeit.”

”But he'd rob you of your s.h.i.+rt, Uncle Mosha,” Aaron exclaimed. ”He's a dangerous feller.”

”I'm used to dangerous fellers, Aaron,” Uncle Mosha answered calmly. ”I told you before, I dropped ten thousand in Wall Street.”

”Yes; and if you would sold this here house, Uncle Mosha, you would drop ten thousand more.”

”Not ten thousand, Aaron. I only got eight thousand equity in the house.”

Again Aaron stared at his uncle.

”Do you mean to told me you only got eight thousand dollars in the world?” he groaned.

”The world is a pretty big place, Aaron,” Uncle Mosha said; ”but I wouldn't lie to you anyhow. Eight thousand is the figure.”

”Then all I could say is, Uncle Mosha, before you would got to go begging on the streets yet, you would better sell that house and come to live with me up in Port Sullivan.”

Uncle Mosha shrugged once more.

”I'll tell you the truth, Aaron,” he said; ”I was going to suggest that to you myself yet. So let's go right off and see this here Perlmutter and we'll talk about Port Sullivan later.”

”Not by a damsite,” Aaron declared, as he rose from his chair and grasped his uncle firmly by the arm. ”You come with me and we'll sell this house to a feller I know.”

When Max Gershon entered the salesroom of Potash & Perlmutter that afternoon, Abe treated the incident as though it were the arrival of an intimate friend after an absence of many years' duration.

”How are you feeling now, Max?” he said, and then he introduced his partner. ”Mawruss,” he called, ”this is my friend, Mr. Max Gershon. Get the cigars from the safe, Mawruss.”

After he had relieved his visitor of his hat and coat he drew forward a comfortable chair and literally thrust Max into it.

”Well, Max,” Abe said, after the cigars had gone around, ”I sure am glad to see you. Mawruss, don't he look like his uncle, old man Baum?”

Morris regarded Max critically for a moment.

”Old man Baum was a pretty good-looking feller, Abe,” he said, ”but he wasn't so tall as Mr. Gershon; otherwise they are the same identical people.”

”Never mind his looks,” Max said, beaming. ”If I should have only his business ability I would be satisfied.”

”He made plenty money in his time,” Morris commented.

”Yes, and lost it again too,” Max added; ”but what's the use talking?