“Mein Gott, I nearly vent crazy! Dere vas dot loafer mit a big beer spot on my shirt in der front, unt drinking a glass of beer unt all der foam dropping in big, terrible drops on der pants uv der swallow-tailer. I vent straight to his face unt said, ‘Loafer, der agreement is broke. You haf got spots on it. You are a false vun!’ Unt den Isidore—loafer vot he iss—punched me vun right on der nose. Vot could I do? He vas der commencer. I vas so excited dot I couldn’t say nodding. I punched him vun back unt den ve rolled on der floor.
“Ve punched like regular prize-fighters. I done my best to keep der swallow-tailer clean, unt Izzy done der best to keep his suit vot I had on clean, but dere vas a lot of beer on der floor unt ven der committee come unt put us out in der street—my! ve looked terrible! But nobody could make no more monkey business vit me dat night. ‘Izzy,’ I says—I vas holding him in der neck—‘take dot evening dresser off or else gif up all hopes!’ I vas a desperate character, unt he could read it in der tone uv my voice. He took der swallow-tailer off—right out on der sidewalk uv der street. Den I put it on unt I vas getting all dressed while he vas standing in his underclothes, trying to insult me. Unt just ven I got all dressed unt he vas standing mit der pants in his hands calling me names vot I didn’t pay no attention to, but vot I vill get revenge for some time, dere comes up a p’liceman. Ve both seen him together, but I vas a qvicker t’inker as Isidore, so I says, ‘Mister P’liceman, dis man iss calling me names.’ He vas a Irisher, dot p’liceman, unt he hit Izzy vun mit his club, unt says, ‘Vot do you mean by comin’ in der street mitout your clothes on? You are a prisoner!’ So I says, ‘Good-night, Isidore!’ unt I run across der street to der Montefiore ball. Dey all looked at me ven I got in like if dey wanted to talk to me, but I vas t’inking only uv Miss Rabinowitz. I found her by her mamma.
“‘Miss Rabinowitz,’ I says, ‘I haf kept my word. I promised to come back, unt here I am!’ She gafe me a look vot nearly broked my heart. ‘You are a drunker,’ she says.
“‘Miss Rabinowitz,’ I says, ‘dem iss hard words.’ ‘Go away,’ she says. ‘You look like a loafer. Instead of helping your friend you haf been drinking.’ Den her mamma gafe me a look unt says, ‘Drunken loafer, go ‘way from my daughter or I will call der police.’
“Vot could I do? As proud as I could I left her. Den a committee comes up to me unt says, ‘Moritz, go home. You look sick.’ Dey vas all laughing. Den somebody says, ‘He smells like a brewery vagon.’ Vot could I do? I vent home.
“Der next morning Isidore comes home. ‘Moritz,’ he says, ‘you are a fool.’ I gafe him vun look in his eye. ‘Isidore,’ I says, ‘you are der biggest loafer I haf efer seen.’ Ve haf never had a conversation since dot day.
“My! Such a loafer!”
DEBORAH
Her name was Deborah. When Hazard first saw her she was sitting on the steps of a tenement with Berman at her side, Berman’s betrothal ring on her finger, Berman’s arm around her waist. “Beauty and the beast!” Hazard murmured as he stood watching them. He was an artist, and a search for the picturesque had led him into Hester Street—where he found it.
Presently Hazard crossed the street, and, with a low bow and an air of modest hesitation that became him well, begged Berman to present his compliments to the young lady at his side and to ask her if she would allow an enthusiastic artist to make a sketch of her face. Hester Street is extremely unconventional. Deborah looked up into the blue eyes of the artist, and, with a faint blush, freed herself from her companion’s embrace. Then she smiled and told the artist he could sketch her. In a twinkling Hazard produced book and pencil. While he sketched they chatted together, ignoring Berman completely, who sat scowling and unhappy. When the sketch was finished the artist handed it to Deborah and begged her to keep it. But would she not come some day to pose for him in his studio? Her mother or sister or—with a jerk of his thumb—this sturdy chap at her side could accompany her. And she would be well paid. Her face fitted wonderfully into a painting he was working on, and he had been looking for a model for weeks. His mother lived at the studio with him—the young lady would be well cared for—five or six visits would be sufficient—a really big painting. Yes. Deborah would go.