“Sure. America good place.”
“Going to be a merchant?”
“Sure.”
“Sell laces and nuts and shawls?” and Willie swept his hand around at the stock about him.
The young man nodded.
“Where do these things come from? Armenia?” asked Willie, pointing to the laces.
A subtle change came over the young merchant’s face. “All American,” said the clerk.
“But our American women cannot make such beautiful things,” said Willie.
“Armenians make them,” said the lad, with obvious pride. “Armenians here. All made in America.”
Willie said good-bye and went out. He felt absolutely certain the fellow had been lying to him. Otherwise, why came that crafty look into his face? “Mr. Habib Mahaleb,” muttered Willie, “I think I’ve got something on you, all right. I’m going to look into your import records and see how many pistachio-nuts and other goods you are importing. I believe I’ve got something to go on, now.”