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"Because I bought out that feller, Marcus Senft," Sam replied, "and I got on my books yet debts which your mother sold to Senft for twenty-five cents on the dollar and he sold to me for ten cents." "I'll bet I know who owes 'em, too," Max commented. "You could look 'em over if you want to," Sam said as they started to walk down the hilly lane from the depot to the main street.
"Come inside," Morris answered, and led the way to the parlour. He motioned his visitor to a seat and produced a box of cigars. "Do you mean to say the feller got a job as quick as all that?" he continued. "He sure did, Mawruss," Harry replied. "He's an elegant designer, Mawruss, and if B. Senft knew his business he never would got rid of him at all." "Why, what did he done to B. Senft?"
You remember Max Finkman, for years a salesman for B. Senft & Co. Downstairs is a lawyer, a young feller by the name Sholy, and on the ground floor is Doctor Eichendorfer." "With lawyers, Mawruss," Abe said, "we got enough to do downtown, ain't it? Doctors also, Mawruss.
"Al-lo!" he cried, seizing Harry by the arm, "adjer do?" "Fine, thanks," Harry said. "Let me introduce you to a friend of mine by the name Mr. Perlmutter. This is Mr. Simonetti, Mawruss, which I am talking to you about." Morris shook hands limply. "You don't tell me," he said. "You know me, Mr. Simmons? My partner is Mr. Potash. I guess you hear B. Senft speak about us." "Sure," Simonetti said.
Morris asked. "Nothing at all, Mawruss. Senft is crazy. He gets a prejudice against the feller all of a sudden on account he's an Italiener." "Italiener!" Morris cried. "Sure," Harry replied. "Did you ever hear the like, Mawruss, that a man like Senft, which his folks oser come over in the Mayflower neither, y'understand, should kick on account a feller is an Italiener?
"I could get you thousands of designers. In fact, Mawruss, only this afternoon my father-in-law, Mr. Finkman, sends me over a man which he is working for years by Senft & Co. as a designer, I should give him a job. I already got a good designer, so what could I do?" "Why didn't you think to send him over to me, Harry?" Morris said. "How should I know you wanted a designer?" Harry rejoined.
A flurry was caused during the afternoon by Timothy Senft. He testified to what I already knew that between three and four on Monday morning, during the height of the flood, he had seen from his shanty-boat a small skiff caught in the current near the Ninth Street bridge. He had shouted encouragingly to the man in the boat, running out a way on the ice to make him hear.
"Mister Senft ees always say: 'Mister Potash and Perlmutter ees nice-a people. Sure." "Better than Sammet Brothers?" Harry asked. Simonetti raised his eyebrows and made a flapping gesture with his right hand. "A-oh!" he said. "Sammet Brothers, that's all right too. Not too much-a all right, Mr. Baskof, but is preety good people. I am just-a now go to see ees-a lawyer for sign-a da contract."
I knew the man; he lived in a shanty-boat not far from my house a curious affair with shelves full of dishes and tinware. In the spring he would be towed up the Monongahela a hundred miles or so and float down, tying up at different landings and selling his wares. Timothy Senft was his name. We called him Tim. Mr. Graves motioned me to be quiet.
"Kirschner, von unsere Leute?" "Sure!" Max Kirschner replied. "Did your father once run a store under the opera house here?" "That's right." "And after he died the widder sells out to a man by the name Marcus Senft?" "The same one," Max replied. "Why do you ask?"
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