“I’m not a thief!” exclaimed Larry, for he recognized the Yiddish word for robber, having heard it in his travels about the Jewish quarter of New York. “I haven’t stolen anything, and don’t intend to.”
He spoke sharply, for he feared the woman’s cries would rouse the neighborhood, and, perhaps, make trouble for him. Fortunately, however, there was much noise caused by the children in the street shouting, and no one appeared to pay much attention to the woman’s exclamations.
In a little while, when she saw that Larry had no evil designs, and did not attempt to steal her brass candlesticks or brass samovar, or tea-brewing apparatus, her two choicest possessions, the woman became calmer.
“Do you know Peter Manton?” asked Larry, who was beginning to tire of his own question.
“Hass he got funny eyes alretty yet?” asked the woman. “Eyes not like yours, vat look one in the face, but eyes vat always move about so——” and she shifted hers rapidly.
“Yes, he has,” replied Larry, recognizing one of Peter’s characteristics.
“I know him,” the woman said.
“Where is he?” cried Larry.
“Come in,” the woman requested, opening the door wider. “You must excuse me, young gentlemans. I am all alone here, and ven you comes by my door I t’ou’t you vas a robbers yet. Once alretty dey comes and takes mine moneys. So I am of a carefulness when I goes py de door.”
Then, as Larry questioned her, she told in broken English how Peter had once lived in the house on the same floor she did. She remembered him because he was always playing tricks on her little nephew who had lived with her. But Peter had moved away, she said, and she did not know where.