"Was Max Baum's sister ever married?" Mr. Jones asked in funereal accents.
"Sure she was married," Mosha answered. "She was married to Sam Gershon. He works for years by Richter as a cutter. Sam is dead too."
"Did they ever have any children?" Mr. Jones inquired.
"One boy they had," Uncle Mosha said. "Shall I ever forget it? What a beautiful boy that was, Mr. Feldman—a regular picture! Mrs. Gershon thinks a whole lot of that boy, too, I bet yer."
"Never mind the trimmings, Kronberg," Feldman broke in. "Is the boy alive?"
"That's what we're anxious to know," Mr. Jones interrupted. "My company had ascertained that there was one son, but we couldn't find out if he were dead or alive."
"If the boy was alive Mrs. Gershon would be alive too," Mosha said. "Mrs. Gershon died on account of that boy. What a lovely boy that was! I can see him now—the way he looked. He had eyes black like coal, and a—"
Here Uncle Mosha stopped short. His jaw dropped and his fishy gray eyes seemed to start from his head as he gazed at the door. It stood ajar some six inches and exposed the features of a person impatient to the point of frenzy.
"Ex-cuse me, Mr. Feldman!" said the intruder; "I may be a Rube from Texas, y'understand, but I got my feelings too, and unless you come in here right away and close the matter up me and my partner would go and get our agreement fixed up somewhere else again."
"I'll be with you in just one moment, Mr. Gershon," Feldman replied.