United States or Costa Rica ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
He had retired from business with enough extra two-cent pieces from bread buyers to reach, if laid side by side, fifteen times around the earth and lap as far as the public debt of Paraguay. Dan shook hands with his father, and hurried over to Greenwich Village to see his old high-school friend, Kenwitz. Dan had always admired Kenwitz.
Kenwitz was trying to train his socialistic and economic comprehension on her wonderful fur boa and the carriage waiting outside. "Why, Miss Boyne!" he began. "Mrs. Kinsolving," she corrected. "Dan and I were married a month ago." Being acquainted with a newspaper reporter who had a couple of free passes, I got to see the performance a few nights ago at one of the popular vaudeville houses.
He was acquitted last week after a three years' legal battle, and the state draws upon taxpayers for that much expense." "Back to the bakery!" exclaimed Dan, impatiently. "The Government doesn't need to stand in the bread line." "The last item of the instance is come and I will show you," said Kenwitz, rising. The Socialistic watchmaker was happy.
Kenwitz unscrewed a magnifying glass from his eye, routed out his parent from a dingy rear room, and abandoned the interior of watches for outdoors. He went with Dan, and they sat on a bench in Washington Square. Dan had not changed much; he was stalwart, and had a dignity that was inclined to relax into a grin. Kenwitz was more serious, more intense, more learned, philosophical and socialistic.
"Not in one instance," repeated Kenwitz. "I will give you one, and let us see. Thomas Boyne had a little bakery over there in Varick Street. He sold bread to the poorest people. When the price of flour went up he had to raise the price of bread. His customers were too poor to pay it, Boyne's business failed and he lost his $1,000 capital all he had in the world."
Kenwitz chuckled like a diabolic raven. "Miss Boyne," he said, "let me present Mr. Kinsolving, the son of the man who put bread up five years ago. He thinks he would like to do something to aid those who where inconvenienced by that act." The smile left the young woman's face. She rose and pointed her forefinger toward the door.
This time she looked Kinsolving straight in the eye, but it was not a look that gave delight. The two men went down Varick Street. Kenwitz, letting all his pessimism and rancor and hatred of the Octopus come to the surface, gibed at the moneyed side of his friend in an acrid torrent of words. Dan appeared to be listening, and then turned to Kenwitz and shook hands with him warmly.
"These loaves are ten cents," said the clerk. "I always get them at eight cents uptown," said the lady. "You need not fill the order. I will drive by there on my way home." The voice was familiar. The watchmaker paused. "Mr. Kenwitz!" cried the lady, heartily. "How do you do?"
One little stream of sunlight through the dingy window burnished her heavy hair to the color of an ancient Tuscan's shield. She flashed a rippling smile at Kenwitz and a look of somewhat flustered inquiry. Kinsolving stood regarding her clear and pathetic beauty in heart-throbbing silence. Thus they came into the presence of the last item of the Instance.
Kenwitz was pale, curly-haired, intense, serious, mathematical, studious, altruistic, socialistic, and the natural foe of oligarchies. Kenwitz had foregone college, and was learning watch-making in his father's jewelry store. Dan was smiling, jovial, easy-tempered and tolerant alike of kings and ragpickers. The two foregathered joyously, being opposites.
Word Of The Day