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Updated: June 2, 2025
"There goes that sucker, Aaron Kronberg, from Port Sullivan," Abe Potash declared to his partner, Morris Perlmutter, as they looked from the windows of their showroom to the opposite sidewalk some four stories below. "Ain't it funny that feller would never buy from us a dollar's worth more goods?" "The reason ain't hard to find, Abe," Morris replied.
"Waiter," Abe called, "put this here gentleman's check on mine and bring us two of them thirty-cent cigars." So eagerly did Morris await the advent of Uncle Mosha Kronberg in Potash & Perlmutter's store that he even omitted to notice his partner's prolonged absence at lunch; and when Abe returned to unfold the narrative of his meeting with a prospective customer Morris heard it without interest.
The tabulated list of quotations was not unnoticed by Max as he felt for another cigar to present to the old man. "Do you ever speculate in Wall Street, Mr. Kronberg?" he asked. "Oncet upon a time I used to," Uncle Mosha replied, "but never no more, Maxie. It's a game which you couldn't beat take it from me, Maxie not if you was a hundred times so smart as Old Man Baum."
Kronberg, a new servant Carl had brought with him to the Glade for personal attendance, presently brought in his nightly tray of whiskey. Carl glanced at the bottle and frowned. "Take it away!" he said curtly. Kronberg obeyed. A little later, white and very tired, Carl went up to bed. Dick went in the morning.
"Sure, I know; that's all right," Morris went on; "but I thought, even if you wouldn't want to sell the house, you know such a whole lot about real estate, Mr. Kronberg, you could help us out a little." The hard lines about Uncle Mosha's mouth relaxed into a smile. "Well, when it comes to real estate," he said, "I ain't a fool exactly, y'understand." "That's what I was told," Morris continued.
Uncle Mosha fairly beamed. "Yes, Mr. Kronberg," Morris went on, without taking breath, "he says to me: 'You should go and see Uncle Mosha; he's a gentleman and he would treat you right. 'But, I says to him, 'I ain't got no right to butt in on your Uncle Mosha. You see, Alex, I says " "Alex!" Uncle Mosha cried. "Did Alex Kronberg send you here?" "That's who it was," Morris replied.
He spent August at Scheveningen; in September his suspense was over, for his engagement to Cécile formally took place at Kronberg, near Frankfort. Three weeks later he was obliged to go back to his duties at Leipsic. It was their congratulations to their idol on his betrothal. "Les Feliciens" was the title given to Felix and Cécile by his sister Fanny later in life.
His discarded plan for renewing his acquaintance with Uncle Mosha had involved the pretence that he was seeking to interest the old gentleman in the Home for Chronic Invalids, Independent Order Mattai Aaron, of which fraternity Morris was an active member; and Uncle Mosha's apparent distaste for organized charity proved rather disconcerting. "You're a poor guesser, Mr. Kronberg," he said.
Morris rose leisurely to his feet and pulled a large cigar from his pocket. "If that's the way you feel about it, Mr. Kronberg," he said gently, "schon gut. I wouldn't bother you any more. At the same time, Mr. Kronberg, if ever you should want to sell the house, y'understand, let me know; that's all."
At Carl's curt direction Kronberg turned the key in the door and passed through the icy file of rooms beyond to the second floor, thence to a dusty attic where the sweep of the wind and snow seemed very close, and on to an ancient cluster of storerooms. Years back when the old farmhouse had been an inn, shivering servants had made these chill and dusty rooms more habitable.
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