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Updated: June 2, 2025
"Don't you trouble yourself," Uncle Mosha declared with a confidential wink at Leon Sammet and Henry D. Feldman; "I could take care of myself all right." "What are you going to do with all that money, Mr. Kronberg?" Leon asked as Uncle Mosha turned to leave. The old man paused with his hand on the door, and once more he favoured his questioner with a significant wink. "Leave that to me," he said.
With a moan Kronberg broke desperately away from his grasp and flung himself violently upon his knees by the fire, stretching his arms out pitifully to the blaze and chattering and moaning like a thing demented. Carl walked away to the window. Presently the man by the fire crept humbly to a chair, a broken creature in the clutch of fever, eyes and skin unnaturally bright.
"My trouble's what you got to stay here for," Uncle Mosha retorted. "Yes, boys; what d'ye think for a highwayman like that Aaron Kronberg?" Aaron blushed a fiery red. "Come on, Leon," he said. "Let's get out of this." "Hold on!" Max Gershon shouted. "Don't you do nothing of the kind, Sammet. Me and Mr.
Jones," Feldman interrupted, "I ought to explain to Mr. Kronberg the locus in quo." Aaron Kronberg turned pale and wiped a few drops of perspiration from his forehead. "What is there to explain, Mr. Feldman?" he broke in. "Go ahead and close the title to the property. I couldn't sit here all day." "There's a great deal to be explained," Feldman continued.
He sighed contentedly and turned to reënter the house, but even as he did so he wheeled about in response to the greeting: "How do you do, Mr. Kronberg?" The speaker was none other than Morris Perlmutter, who had tossed on his pillow until past midnight devising a plan for approaching Uncle Mosha in a plausible manner.
Denmark, like the two other Scandinavian countries, has made her pavilion characteristic of her own national architecture. Though not in any sense a reproduction, the building finds its motive in Hamlet's Castle of Kronberg at Elsinore.
Uncle Mosha drank three cups in rapid succession and heaved a great sigh. "You ain't got maybe a cigar about you, Max?" he said. "Smoke this, Uncle Mosha," Alex Kronberg cried, pulling a large satiny invincible from his waistcoat pocket and thrusting it at his uncle. For one hesitating minute the old man looked from Alex to the cigar, but at last its glossy perfection overcame his scruples.
"Hello, Uncle Mosha!" he cried. "What are you doing around here?" "Couldn't I come uptown oncet in a while if I would want to?" Uncle Mosha replied, somewhat testily. "Sure, sure," Aaron Kronberg hastened to say. "Did you eat yet?" "I never eat in the middle of the day," Uncle Mosha said. "I am up here on business." "On business?" Aaron repeated. "What for business?"
Gershon," Alex replied. "Yes, Mawruss, Aaron says he sold the house already, and who d'ye think he sold it to?" Morris made an inarticulate noise which he intended as an expression of curiosity. "A friend of yours by the name Leon Sammet," Alex Kronberg said. "You see how it is?" Aaron Kronberg said to his Uncle Mosha as they passed down Fifth Avenue after their encounter with Alex.
As for Aaron Kronberg, he found that the borrowing of eight thousand dollars, even for so short a period as would be necessary to consummate the Madison Street deal, was no easy task. At length he raised the sum by paying a large bonus to his bankers in Port Sullivan, and it was deposited to the credit of Sammet Brothers four days before the closing of title.
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