"Also," Gans said as he appended his neat signature to the letter, "I wish you and Dishkes luck, Elkan; and keep up the good work about the antique furniture. Even when you would get stuck with a reproduction instead of a genuine piece once in a while, if it looks just as good as the original and no one tells you differently, understand me, you feel just as happy."
Thus encouraged, Elkan went home that evening full of a determination to acquire all the antique furniture his apartment would hold; and he and Yetta sat up until past midnight conning the pages of a heavy volume on the subject, which Yetta had procured from the neighbouring public library. Accordingly Elkan rose late the following morning, and it was almost nine o'clock before he reached his office and observed on the very top of his morning mail a slip of paper containing a message in the handwriting of Sam, the office boy.
"A man called about Jacobowitz," it read, and Elkan immediately rang his deskbell.
"What Jacobowitz is this?" he demanded as Sam entered, and the office boy shrugged.
"What d'ye mean you should know?" Elkan cried. "Ain't I always told it you you should write down always the name when people call?"
"Ain't Jacobowitz a name?" Sam replied. "Furthermore, you couldn't expect me I should get the family history from everybody which is coming in the place, Mr. Lubliner—especially when the feller says he would come back."
"Why didn't you tell me he is coming back?" Elkan asked, and again Sam shrugged.
"When the feller is coming back, Mr. Lubliner," he said, "it don't make no difference if I tell you oder not. He would come back anyhow."
Having thus disposed of the matter to his entire satisfaction, Sam withdrew and banged the door triumphantly behind him, while Elkan fell to examining his mail. He had hardly cut the first envelope, however, when his door opened to admit Dishkes.