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For a moment Shosshi's heart beat wildly. He thought the buxom figure was Becky's. "I have come for my sixpence." Ah! The words awoke him from his dream. It was only the Widow Finkelstein. And yet ! Verily, the widow, too, was plump and agreeable; if only her errand had been pleasant, Shosshi felt she might have brightened his back yard.
"I s'pose we'll have to call McKelvey 'Lord Chaz' from now on," said Sidney Finkelstein. "It beats all get-out," meditated that man of data, Howard Littlefield, "how hard it is for some people to get things straight. Here they call this fellow 'Lord Doak' when it ought to be 'Sir Gerald." Babbitt marvelled, "Is that a fact! Well, well! 'Sir Gerald, eh? That's what you call um, eh?
Shosshi Shmendrik was chatting quite gaily with Becky, and held her finger-tips cavalierly in his coarse fist, without obvious objection on her part. His face was still pimply, but it had lost its painful shyness and its readiness to blush without provocation. His bearing, too, was less clumsy and uncouth. Evidently, to love the Widow Finkelstein had been a liberal education to him.
He hastily praised the congressman's wit, to Sidney Finkelstein, but for Dr. Dilling's benefit. That afternoon three men shouldered into Babbitt's office with the air of a Vigilante committee in frontier days. They were large, resolute, big-jawed men, and they were all high lords in the land of Zenith Dr.
Suddenly Shosshi darted between the shafts and made a dash off with the barrow down the side street. But Widow Finkelstein pressed it down with all her force, arresting the motion like a drag.
He comes every morning with a bag of cakes or an orange or a fat Dutch herring, and now she has moved her machine to my bedroom, where he can't follow her, the unhappy youth." "Who is it now?" inquired Esther in amusement. "Shosshi Shmendrik." "Shosshi Shmendrik! Wasn't that the young man who married the Widow Finkelstein?" "Yes a very honorable and seemly youth.
He told them all about those subjects, together with three funny stories about European misconceptions of America and some spirited words on the necessity of keeping ignorant foreigners out of America. "Say, that was a mighty informative talk. Real he-stuff," said Sidney Finkelstein. But the disaffected Babbitt grumbled, "Four-flusher! Bunch of hot air! And what's the matter with the immigrants?
Say, juh notice in the paper the way the New York Assembly stood up to the Reds?" "You bet I did. That was fine, eh? Nice day to-day." "Yes, it's one mighty fine spring day, but nights still cold." "Yeh, you're right they are! Had to have coupla blankets last night, out on the sleeping-porch. Say, Sid," Babbitt turned to Finkelstein, the buyer, "got something wanta ask you about.
His clientèle went to the old spot but did not find him. He did not even make a hansel. At two o'clock he tied his articles to the barrow with a complicated arrangement of cords. Widow Finkelstein waddled out and demanded her sixpence. Shosshi replied that he had not taken sixpence, that the coign was not one of vantage.
How he had acquired his last name of Gorman was only to be guessed at. It was fair to assume, though, he had got it by processes of self-adoption no unusual thing in a city where overnight a Finkelstein turns into a Fogarty and he who at the going down of the sun was Antonio Baccigaluppi has at the upcoming of the same become Joseph Brown.
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