“Bleased to make your acqvaintance, Mr. Prace; shake hands,” said Mr. Finkelstein. “And so your name was Kraikory, was it, Shonny? I used to know a Mr. Kraikory kept an undertaker's estaiblishment on Sixt Aivenue. Maybe he was a relation of yours, hey?”
“No, sir; I don't think so. Gregory is only my first name,” I answered.
“Well, now, fader-in-law,” struck in Mr. Marx, “you remember dot boy I told you about up in Nawvich, what jumped into the water, and saved me my fishing-pole already, de udder day?”
“Yes, Solly, I remember. Vail?”
“Well, fader-in-law, this was the boy.”
“What! Go 'vay!” exclaimed Mr. Finkelstein. “You don't mean it! Vail, if I aifer! Vail, Shonny, let me look at you.” He looked at me with all his eyes, swaying his head slowly from side to side as he did so. “Vail, I wouldn't haif believed, it, aictually.”
“It's a fact, all de same; no mistake about it,” attested Mr. Marx. “And now he's come down to New York, looking for a chop.”
“A shop, hey? Vail, what kind of a shop does he vant, Solly? I should tink a shop by de vater-vorks vould be about his ticket, hey?”
“Oh! no shoking. Pusiness is pusiness, fader-in-law,” Mr. Marx protested. “Well, seriously, I guess he ain't particular what kind of a chop, so long as it's steady and has prospects. He's got so much enerchy and ambition about him, I guesss he'll succeed in 'most any kind of a chop. But first I guess you better let him tell you de reasons he leaf his home, and den you can give him your advice. Go ahead, Bubby, and tell Mr. Finkelstein what you told me down by the restaurant.”
“Yes, go ahead, Shonny,” Mr. Finkelstein added; and so for a second time that day I gave an account of myself.