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"No, Mr. Cohn, I do not. I'm the only crazy man talking. I'm crazy for that vase and I've got to have it right away." "You know vot dot vase costs?" Mr. B. Cohn's voice dripped syrup. "No, and I don't give a hoot what it costs. I want what I want when I want it. Do I get it?" "Ve-ell, lemme see. Vot time iss it?" A silence while B. Cohn evidently looked at his watch.
'He sells shoddy new reach-me-downs as pawned old clo, complained Lazarus Levy, who had taken over S. Cohn's business, together with his daughter Deborah, 'and he charges the Sudminster donkey-heads more than the price we ask for 'em as new. Talk of the devil ! At this point Simeon Samuels stalked into the synagogue, late but serene.
His heart swelled with pride and affection; but ere he could cry 'Yankely' the young fellow was gone. He heard the whirr of machines. Yes, she had kept on the workshop, the wonderful creature, though crippled by his loss and the want of capital. Doubtless S. Cohn's kind-hearted firm had helped her to tide over the crisis. Ah, what a blackguard he had been!
Henry Elkman, she insisted, had not a true Jewish air. There was in the very cut of his clothes a subtle suggestion of going to the races. It was futile of Fanny to insist that Henry had never gone to the races, that his duties as bookkeeper of S. Cohn's Clothing Emporium prevented him from going to the races, and that the cut of his clothes was intended to give tone to his own establishment.
The Saturday this patriotic offer was recorded in his newspaper 'On inquiry at S. Cohn's, the great clothing purveyor of the Holloway Road, our representative was informed that no less than five of the young men were taking advantage of their employer's enthusiasm for England and the Empire' the already puffed-up Solomon had the honour of being called to read in the Law, and first as befitted the sons of Aaron.
Really the citizens liked his stanch adherence to his ancient faith, evidenced so tangibly by his Sabbath shutters: even the Christian clothiers bore him goodwill, not suspecting that S. Cohn's Saturday losses were more than counterbalanced by the general impression that a man who sacrificed business to religion would deal more fairly by you than his fellows.
In the living-rooms she did cooking and washing and sweeping; in the shop above, whenever a hand fell sick or work fell heavy, she was utilized to make buttonholes, school hours or no school hours. Bloomah was likewise the errand-girl of the establishment, and the portress of goods to and from S. Cohn's Emporium in Holloway, and the watch-dog when Mrs. Beckenstein went shopping or pleasuring.
He changed a twenty-dollar bill into nickles, dimes and quarters, returned to the hot, ill-smelling telephone booth and proceeded to lay down a barrage of telephone calls to the B. Cohns of all towns of any importance contiguous to San Francisco Bay. And he was lucky. On the sixth call he located the particular B. Cohn in San Rafael, only to be informed by Mr. Cohn's cook that Mr.
"He'll nab me if I crack that window," the desperate Peck decided, and continued on down the street, crossed to the other side and came back. It was now dark and over the art shop B. Cohn's name burned in small red, white and blue electric lights. And lo, it was spelled B. Cohen! Ex-private William E. Peck sat down on a fire hydrant and cursed with rage.
Now the whilom Gabbai and Town Councillor found himself almost patronized as a poor provincial by this mincing, genteel clerical couple. He retorted by animadverting upon the preacher's heterodoxy. An urban unconcern met the profound views so often impressed on Simon with a strap. 'We are not in Poland now, said the preacher, shrugging his shoulders. 'In Poland! S. Cohn's blood boiled.
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