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Updated: June 20, 2025
I gave them other words, addressing myself to both, and they made a race of it, each trying to head off or outshout the other. At first Mrs. Margolis did so with feigned gaiety, but her face soon set into a grave look and glowed with excitement At last I asked them to spell "coefficient." "We never got it at school," Lucy demurred "I don't know what it means," said Mrs.
One of these attracted my attention by his popularity among the other men and by his peculiar talks of women. His name was Max Margolis.
Margolis caused Lucy to bring her school reader and began to read it aloud, Lucy or I correcting her pronunciation where it was faulty. She was frankly parading her intellectual achievements before me, and I could see that she took them quite seriously. She was very sensitive about the mistakes she made.
Encouraged by the result of taking Nodelman into my confidence, I decided to try a similar heart-to-heart talk on Max Margolis, better known to the reader as Maximum Max. He had some money. I had seen very little of him in the past two years, having stumbled upon him in the street but two or three times.
Margolis, with a shrug of her shoulders. "It means something in mathematics, in high figuring," I explained in Yiddish Mrs. Margolis shrugged her shoulders once more I asked Lucy to try me in spelling. She did and I acquitted myself so well that she exclaimed: "Oh, you liar you! Why did you say you didn't know how to spell?" Once more her mother took her to task for her manners
"We are plain Yiddish folk," he generalized, good-humoredly A few minutes later, as Mrs. Margolis placed a glass of Russian tea before me, he drew her to him and pinched her white cheek "What do you think of my wifey, Levinsky?" She smiled a grave, deprecating smile and took to pottering about the house "And what do you think of these little customers?" he went on.
"I'm afraid I am ahead of her already," Mrs. Margolis said, gaily, yet flushed with excitement "You are not!" Lucy protested, with a good-natured pout "Shut up, bad girl you," her mother retorted, again with a bashful side-glance "Is that the way you talk to your mamma?" Max intervened. "I'll tell your teacher."
I scarcely ever think of it during the first two, three, or four days, but then, all of a sudden, it will pop up in my brain and haunt me a few days in succession, humming itself and nagging me like a living thing. This was precisely what happened to me with regard to Mrs. Margolis.
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