“Why, all about yourself, and what you leaf your home for, and what you expect to do here in New York, and every dings—the whole pusiness. Well, fire away.”
“Well, sir, I—it—it's this way,” I began. And then, as well as I could, I told Mr. Marx substantially everything that I have as yet told you in this story—about my grandmother, my Uncle Florimond, my Uncle Peter, and all the rest. Meanwhile the waiter had brought the breakfast—such an abundant, delicious breakfast! such juicy mutton chops, such succulent stewed potatoes, such bread, such butter, such coffee!—and I was violating the primary canons of good breeding by talking with my mouth full. Mr. Marx heard me through with every sign of interest and sympathy, only interrupting once, to ask, “Well, what I ordered—I hope it gives you entire satisfaction, hey?” and when I had done:—
“Well, if I ever!” he exclaimed. “Well, dot beats de record! Well, dot Uncle Peter was simply outracheous! Well, Bubby, you done just right, you done just exactly right, to come to me. The only thing dot surprises me is how you stood it so long already. Well, dot Uncle Peter of yours, Bubby—well, dot's simply unnecheral.”
He paused for a little, and appeared to be thinking. By and by he went on, “But your grandma, Bubby, your grandma was elegant. Yes, Bubby, your grandma was an angel, and no mistake about it. She reminds me, Bubby, she reminds me of my own mamma. Ach, Krekory, my mamma was so loafly. You couldn't hardly believe it. She was simply magnificent. Your grandma and her, they might have been tervins. Yes, Krekory, they might have been tervin sisters.”
Much to my surprise, Mr. Marx's eyes filled with tears, and there was a frog in his voice. “I can't help it, Bubby,” he said. “When you told me about dot grandma of yours, dot made me feel like crying. You see,” he added in an apologetic key, “I got so much sentiment about me.”
He was silent again for a little, and then again by and by he went on, “But I tell you what, Krekory, it's awful lucky dot you came down to New York just exactly when you did. Uddervise—if you'd come tomorrow instead of to-day, for example—you wouldn't have found me no more. Tomorrow morning I start off on the road for a six weeks' trip. What you done, hey, if you come down to New York and don't find me, hey, Bubby? Dot would been fearful, hey? Well, now, Krekory, now about dot chop. Well, as I got to leaf town to-morrow morning, I ain't got the time to find you a first-class chop before I go. But I tell you what I do. I take you up and introduce you to my fader-in-law; and you stay mit him till I get back from my trip, and then I find you the best chop in the market, don't you be afraid. My fader-in-law was a cheweler of the name of Mr. Finkelstein, Mr. Gottlieb Finkelstein. He's one of the nicest gentlemen you want to know, Bubby, and he'll treat you splendid. As soon as you get through mit dot breakfast, I take you up and introduce you to him.”
We went back to Mr. Marx's place of business, and got my traps; and then we took a horse-car up-town to Mr. Finkelstein's, which was in Third Avenue near Forty-Seventh Street. Mr. Marx talked to me about his father-in-law all the time.
“He's got more wit about him than any man of my acquaintance,” he said, “and he's so fond of music. He's a vidower, you know, Bubby; and I married his only daughter, of the name of Hedwig. Me and my wife, we board; but Mr. Finkelstein, he lives up-stairs over his store, mit an old woman of the name of Henrietta, for houze-keeper. Well, you'll like him first-rate, Bubby, you see if you don't; and he'll like you, you got so much enerchy about you. My kracious! If you talk about eating, he sets one of the grandest tables in the United States. And he's so fond of music, Krek-ory—it's simply wonderful. But I tell you one thing, Bubby; don't you never let him play a game of pinochle mit you, or else you get beat all holler. He's the most magnificent pinochle player in New York City; he's simply A-number-one.. . . Hello! here we are.”
We left the horse-car, and found ourselves in front of a small jeweler's shop, which we entered. The shop was empty, but, a bell over the door having tinkled in announcement of our arrival, there entered next moment from the room behind it an old gentleman, who, as soon as he saw Mr. Marx, cried, “Hello, Solly! Is dot you? Vail, I declare! Vail, how goes it?”
The very instant I first set eyes on him, I thought this was one of the pleasantest-looking old gentlemen I had ever seen in my life; and I am sure you would have shared my opinion if you had seen him, too. He was quite short—not taller than five feet two or three at the utmost—and as slender as a young girl; but he had a head and face that were really beautiful. His forehead was high, and his hair, white as snow and soft as silk, was combed straight back from it. A long white silky beard swept downward over his breast, half-way to his waist. His nose was a perfect aquiline, and it reminded me a little of my grandmother's, only it was longer and more pointed. But what made his face especially prepossessing were his eyes; the kindest, merriest eyes you can imagine; dark blue in color; shining with a mild, sweet light that won your heart at once, yet having also a humorous twinkle in them. Yes, the moment I first saw Mr. Finkelstein I took a liking to him; a liking which was ere a great while to develop into one of the strongest affections of my life.