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He is a fine handsome little fellow, thirteen or fourteen years old, who makes his living selling newspapers and, I am afraid, is learning a great many things that he would be better without. "Which is true of more than him," growled Jack. 'Of course, he does not like Rosenblatt. A little while ago there was a dance and, as always at the dances, that awful beer!
It is my wish annually to dedicate whatever there may be of faith and hope in each volume to the writer of short stories whose work during the year has brought to me the most definite message of idealism. It is accordingly my privilege this year to associate the present volume with the name of Benjamin Rosenblatt, who has contributed in "Zelig" a noble addition to American literature.
Now " She began to search the ground around the cold brazier. "It might be along here." He helped her look. Pretty soon he would remember an engagement and get away. The search at the end of the pool proved fruitless. The girl continued to chatter. They had worked until one-thirty before that grouch of a Rosenblatt would call it a day.
Immediately there was a movement toward the cellar, where Rosenblatt, assisted by a score of helpers, began to knock in the heads of the beer kegs and to hand about tin cups of beer for the first drinking of the bride's health.
It was through Portnoff he obtained an accurate description of the mine property. But that same night Portnoff and Malkarski were found at Brown's house. "There is a man," said Portnoff, "who wishes to know about the mine. Perhaps he desires to purchase." "His name?" enquired Brown. "Rosenblatt." "Rosenblatt? That name has a familiar sound.
The boy says quite quietly, but you can't help feeling that he means it, that he will kill Rosenblatt some day. It is terribly sad, for he is such a nice boy. "Seems considerable of an angel," agreed Jack. 'I am afraid you will have to teach him a good many things, Jack, for he has some bad habits.
"You I arrest," he said, taking old Kalmar by the shoulder. "Very well; it matters not," said the old man, holding up his hands for the handcuffs. "Can anything be done for this man?" asked the Sergeant, pointing to Rosenblatt. "Nothing. He can only live a few minutes." Rosenblatt looked up and beckoned the Sergeant toward him. "I would speak with you," he said faintly.
After a few weeks' experiment, Rosenblatt, under pressure of an exuberant hospitality, sought to persuade Paulina that, at the sacrifice of some comfort and at the expense of a certain degree of privacy, the unoccupied floor space of her boudoir might be placed at the disposal of a selected number of her countrymen, who for the additional comfort thus secured, this room being less exposed to the biting wind from the door, would not object to pay a higher price.
With a wild laugh, Rosenblatt turned the pistol on himself, but before he could fire the Sergeant had wrested it from his hand. "Aha," he gasped, "I have my revenge!" "Fool!" said old Kalmar, who was being supported by his son. "Fool! You have only done for me what I would have done for myself." With a snarl as of a dog, Rosenblatt sank back upon the ground, and with a shudder lay still.
"That is true," cried the black-bearded man, "keep them quiet or the police will herd them in like sheep, like little sheep, baa, baa, baa, baa!" "The police!" shouted a voice in reply, "who cares for the police?" A yell of derisive assent rose in response. "Be quiet!" besought Rosenblatt again. He was at his wits' end.
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