Part 23 (1/2)
Max gazed at the card for five minutes and then he placed it in his waistcoat-pocket.
”So you are out to do us--what?” Max said bitterly.
”What are you talking about--out to do you?” Sam replied. ”How could an old-timer like me do three up-to-date fellers like you and Sidney and Lester? I'm a back number, Max. I ain't got gumption enough to make up a whole lot of garments, all in one style, pastel shades, and sell 'em all to a concern which is on its last legs, Max. I couldn't play this here _Baytzimmer_ feller's pool, Max, and I couldn't sit up all hours of the night eating lobsters and oysters and ham and bacon in the Harlem Winter Garden, Max.”
He paused to indulge in a malicious grin.
”Furthermore, Max,” he continued, ”how could a poor, sick old man compete with a lot of healthy young fellers like you boys? I've got Bright's Disease, Max, and I could drop down in the street any minute.
And if you don't believe me, Max, you should ask Doctor Eichendorfer.
He will tell you the same.”
Max made no reply, but took up his hat from the top of Sam's desk.
”Wait a minute, Max,” Sam said. ”Don't be in such a hurry, Max, because, after all, you boys is my sons, anyhow; and so I got a proposition to make to you.”
He pointed to a chair and Max sat down.
”First, Max,” he went on, ”I wouldn't ask you for cash. What I want is you should give me a note at one year for five thousand dollars, without interest.”
”So far as I could see,” Max interrupted, ”we wouldn't be in no better condition to pay you five thousand dollars in one year as we are to-day.”
”I didn't think you would be,” Sam said, ”but I figured that all out; and if, before the end of one year, you three boys would turn around and go to work and get a decent, respectable feller which he would marry Babette and make a home for her, understand me, I would give you back your note.”
”But how could we do that?” Max exclaimed.
”I leave that to you,” Sam replied; ”because, anyhow, Max, there's plenty fellers which is designers _oder_ bookkeepers which would marry Babette in a minute if they could get a partners.h.i.+p in an old, established concern like yours.”
”But Babette don't want to get married,” Max declared.
”Don't she?” Sam retorted. ”Well, if a woman stands hours and hours in front of the gla.s.s and rubs her face _mit_ cold cream and _Gott weiss_ what else, Max, if she don't want to get married I'd like to know what she does want.”
Again Max rose to his feet.
”I'll tell the boys what you say,” he murmured.
”Sure,” Sam said heartily, ”and tell 'em also they should drop in oncet in a while and see mommer and me up in One Hundred and Twenty-seventh Street.”
Max nodded.
”And tell Babette to come, also,” Sam added; but Max shook his head.
”I'm afraid she wouldn't do it,” he declared. ”She says yesterday she wouldn't speak to you again so long as you live.”
Sam emitted a sigh that was a trifle too emphatic in its tremulousness.
”I'm sorry she feels that way, Max,” he said; ”but it's an old saying and a true one, Max: you couldn't make no omelets without beating eggs.”
CHAPTER FIVE
MAKING OVER MILTON
”Take it from me, Mr. Zwiebel, that boy would never amount to nothing,”