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"Nathan Baum was the only relative in the world which Max Baum got it. He had a sister, but she died before Max." "Was Max Baum's sister ever married?" Mr. Jones asked in funereal accents. "Sure she was married," Mosha answered. "She was married to Sam Gershon. He works for years by Richter as a cutter. Sam is dead too." "Did they ever have any children?" Mr. Jones inquired.
"Well, it's like this, Mawruss: Aaron and Alex is good friends until Uncle Mosha cut Alex out of his will. You see Aaron and Alex is the only two relations which Mosha got at all. So naturally when Aaron thinks he is coming in for the whole thing he begins to get sore at Alex, and the more Aaron thinks that the old man really ought to leave half to Alex, the more he gets sore at Alex."
He had not yet determined what the question would be, and it occurred to him that, unless it were sufficiently momentous to account for his presence on the lower East Side during the busiest hours of a business day, Uncle Mosha would show him the door. "Go ahead and ask it, then," Uncle Mosha broke in impatiently. "I couldn't sit here all day."
He was emptying a cup of coffee in long, noisy inhalations and at the same time consuming cheese sandwiches with uncommonly keen appetite for a man who never ate in the middle of the day. "Yes, Aaron," Uncle Mosha said, as he emerged all dripping from the cup, "I think I sold the house, and I guess I would have another cup coffee." "Go ahead," Aaron replied.
Alex don't trouble himself at all. He told me so himself. But that's the way it goes, Mawruss. Mosha Kronberg, Hillel Kronberg, and Elkan Kronberg was three brothers which you don't see nowadays at all more like friends than brothers, Mawruss. Hillel died ten years ago and I thought it would broke Mosha's heart.
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.
"Now, Mr. Kronberg," Feldman continued, "I'd like to elucidate this situation for you as succinctly as possible." "Do that afterward, if you got to do it," Uncle Mosha broke in; "but just now tell me what the trouble is." "What's the use talking to a mutt that don't understand the English language at all?" Feldman cried. "Listen here to me. You bought your house from a fellow called Nathan Baum."
"A friend of mine he says to me: 'If any one could tell you about real estate, Mosha Kronberg could. There's a man, he says, 'which his opinion you could trust in it anything what he says is so. If the Astors and the Goelets would know about East Side real estate what that feller knows understand me instead of their hundreds of millions they would have thousands of millions already."
"I would do it for you only on condition you come to live with me at Port Sullivan," Aaron concluded; "and also you must give me, to take care of it for you, all the cash money you get for the house." Uncle Mosha frowned as he drew from his pocket a small packet wrapped in newspaper. This he proceeded to unwrap until there was exposed the unburnt half of a large black cigar.
"Then what ain't mine I don't want at all," Uncle Mosha continued; "and so, Maxie, you and me gives Leon Sammet here a deed of the house and Leon pays us the balance of eight thousand dollars. Out of that you get four thousand three hundred and seventy-five dollars, because me, I already got seven hundred and fifty dollars. Are you agreeable to fix it that way, Sammet?"
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