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We shall not meet again to-night. Do you understand, Mintz? It is my wish." Mintz stood still, his legs wide apart, his arms akimbo, his head hanging. Then with a sad, submissive smile he answered in an unexpectedly mild tone: "Very well, then, All right, I understand you. It is quite all right."
In the stillness of the night the pattering rain could be heard distinctly. Lydia Constantinovna leaned against the white door, throwing back her head, and began to speak; avoiding Mintz's eyes, she endeavoured to express herself simply and clearly, but the words seemed dry as they fell from her lips: "I am very tired, Mintz, I am going to bed at once. You go too. Goodbye until tomorrow.
Abe remained silent. "It'll look big, anyhow," Morris continued. "Look big!" Abe exclaimed. "It is big. It's three thousand dollars." "Well, you can't reckon stickers by what they cost," Morris explained. "It's what they'll sell for." "You're right, Mawruss," Abe commented bitterly. "And that house wouldn't sell for Confederate money. I'll see Louis Mintz to-night."
Feldman broke in hurriedly. "You can't refuse those terms, Mr. Mintz. Mr. Potash will sign for his partner, I apprehend, and then Mr. Perlmutter will be bound under the principle of qui fecit per alium fecit per se." No one could stand up against such a flood of Latin, and Louis nodded. "All right," he said. "Let her go that way." Mr. Feldman immediately rang for a stenographer.
Parker, editor of the "Telegram," Aaron Scheffler, of Scheffler and Mintz, and Councilman Carlin. The presiding officer inquired with the bland indifference of the assured whether there were any further nominations. There were not. But turning in his second-row seat, Festus Willard, who was too important a figure commercially to leave out, though Dr.
Mintz was drinking and pacing up and down the room, speaking volubly with noisy derision. The brandy flowed through his veins, warming his sluggish blood; his thoughts grew vivid and spiteful, engendering sarcastic, malicious remarks. Whenever he took a drink, he removed his pince-nez for a moment, and his eyes became evil, vacant and bemused.
Mintz kissed her hand without speaking, then his tall, bony, somewhat stooping figure disappeared down the corridor. Lydia Constantinovna's bedroom was cold and gloomy. As formerly, it contained a huge four-poster, a chest of drawers, a dressing table and a wardrobe. The rain beat fiercely against the window panes running down in tiny glass globules.
Lydia Constantinovna had arrived with Mintz the day before at dusk; Ivanov was not at home. They had gone for a walk in the evening, returning only at two o'clock when dawn was just about to break, and a cold mist hung over the earth like a soft grey veil. They were met by barking dogs which were quickly silenced by the lash of Ignat's whip.
Lydia Constantinovna remained in the middle of the room, her face turned to the door. Mintz approached, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. "You must not take it to heart, Lit," he said softly and kindly. She freed her hand and laid it on Mintz's shoulder. "No, one should not take it to heart," she assented in a low voice, "One should not.... But listen, Mintz.... How strange it all is!
There was a rancid sneer in Pierce's insinuation. Hal turned from the aisle and went straight for him. A little man rose in his way. It was Mintz, who had given him the heartening word after the committee meeting. In his blind fury Hal struck him a staggering blow. But the little Jew was plucky. He closed with the younger man, and clinging to him panted out his good advice.
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