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Margolis had built up some sort of auction business, but his real-estate mania had ruined it and eaten up all he had except three thousand dollars, which Dora had contrived to save from the wreck. With this she had bought a cigar-and-stationery store on Washington Heights by means of which she now supported the family.
As he handed me back the strip of paper he gave me a look that seemed to say: "So you are a manufacturer, you whom I have always known as a miserable ragamuffin." Mrs. Margolis reappeared. Her husband told her of my great check and she returned some trivialities. As we thus chatted, I made a mental note of the fascinating feminine texture of her flesh He made me stay to supper.
If it were not for my children, my dear children, my all in all in the world, I should not live with Margolis another day. If he gave me a divorce, well and good; if not, then I don't know what I might do. I shouldn't care. I love you so and I want to be happy. I do, I do, I do." A sob rang through her voice as she repeated the words.
She was a good woman, but I never gave her a day's happiness. For eighteen years she shared my poverty. And now, that there is something better to share, she is gone." ONE of the many Jewish immigrants who were drawn into the whirl of real-estate speculation was Max Margolis, Dora's husband.
Margolis looked down shamefacedly. She certainly was not unaware of her husband's failing, and she obviously took anything but pride in it. As I glanced at her face at this moment it struck me as a singularly truthful face. "Those eyes of hers do not express anger, but integrity," I said to myself.
It seemed to me that when she was on her feet she looked younger than when she was seated I asked the boy his name, and he answered in lugubrious, but distinct, accents: "Daniel Margolis." "He speaks like a grown person," I said "She used to speak like that, too, when she was of his age," my hostess replied, with a glance in the direction of her daughter "Did you?" I said to Lucy
Max was an instalment peddler, his chief business being with frequenters of dance-halls, to whom he sold clothing, dress-goods, jewelry, and when there was a marriage among them furniture. Many a young housewife who had met her "predestined one" in one of these halls wore a marriage ring, and had her front room furnished with a "parlor set," bought of Max Margolis.
It was a gesticulating, jabbering, whispering, excited throng, resembling the crowd of curb-brokers on Broad Street. Hence the nickname "The Curb" by which that corner was getting to be known I was talking to Tevkin when somebody slapped me on the back "Hello, Levinsky! Hello!" "Margolis!" His face had the florid hue of worn, nervous, middle age. "I heard you were buying. Is it true?
Well, how goes it, great man?" "How have you been?" "Can't kick. Of course, compared to a big fellow like David Levinsky, I am a fly." I excused myself to Tevkin and took Margolis to the quieter side of the Avenue "Glad to see you, upon my word," he said. "Well, let bygones by bygones. It's about time we forgot it all." "There is nothing to forget." "Honest?" "Honest!
Max shouted, "you have been more than five minutes without kissing. What's the matter with you?" At this, Sadie, with mock defiance, walked up to Mrs. Margolis, threw her arms around her, and gave her a luscious smack on the lips "Bravo! And now you, kids!" Max commanded With a merry chuckle the two little girls flew into each other's arms and kissed.
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