"Not by me!" Glaubmann declared. "I give you my word, gentlemen, the trees on the lot is the same like I bought it."
Feldman allowed his eyes to rest for a moment on the protesting Glaubmann, who literally crumpled in his chair.
"Proceed, Mr. Jones," Feldman said to the title company's representative, who continued without further interruption to the end of his list. This included all the technical objections which Glaubmann had feared, as well as a novel and interesting point concerning a partition suit in Chancery, brought in 1819, and affecting Glaubmann's chain of title to a strip in the rear of his lot, measuring one quarter of an inch in breadth by seven feet in length.
"So far as I can see, Feldman," Goldstein commented as Mr. Jones laid down his report, "the only objection that will hold water is the one concerning Max Kovner's tenancy. As a matter of fact, I have witnesses to show that Kovner has always claimed that he didn't hold a lease."
For answer, Feldman touched the button of an electric bell.
"Show in Mr. and Mrs. Kovner," he said to the boy who responded. "We'll let them speak for themselves."
This, it would appear, they were more than willing to do; for as soon as they entered the room and caught sight of Glaubmann, who by this time was fairly cowering in his chair, they immediately began a concerted tirade that was only ended when Goldstein banged vigorously on the library table, using as a gavel one of Feldman's metal-tipped rulers.
"That'll do, Goldstein!" Feldman said hoarsely. "I think I can preserve order in my own office."
"Why don't you then?" Goldstein retorted, as he leaned back in his chair and regarded with a malicious smile the damage he had wrought.
"Yes, Mr. Glaubmann," Kovner began anew, "you thought you got us helpless there in your house; but——"