"A property," Uncle Mosha repeated. "A property is something else again. What for a property would your friend like to buy it?"
"A fine property," Morris replied; "a property like you got it here."
"But this here property ain't for sale," Uncle Mosha said. "I got the house here now since 1890 already, and I guess I would keep it."
"Sure, I know; that's all right," Morris went on; "but I thought, even if you wouldn't want to sell the house, you know such a whole lot about real estate, Mr. Kronberg, you could help us out a little."
The hard lines about Uncle Mosha's mouth relaxed into a smile.
"Well, when it comes to real estate," he said, "I ain't a fool exactly, y'understand."
"That's what I was told," Morris continued. "A friend of mine he says to me: 'If any one could tell you about real estate, Mosha Kronberg could. There's a man,' he says, 'which his opinion you could trust in it anything what he says is so. If the Astors and the Goelets would know about East Side real estate what that feller knows—understand me—instead of their hundreds of millions they would have thousands of millions already.'"
Uncle Mosha fairly beamed.
"Yes, Mr. Kronberg," Morris went on, without taking breath, "he says to me: 'You should go and see Uncle Mosha; he's a gentleman and he would treat you right.' 'But,' I says to him, 'I ain't got no right to butt in on your Uncle Mosha. You see, Alex,' I says—"
"Alex!" Uncle Mosha cried. "Did Alex Kronberg send you here?"