"Come up and see me, Mr. Paul, when we get through refurnishing," he said. "I promise you you would see a flat furnished to your taste—no crayon portraits nor nothing."
It was late in the afternoon when Elkan's office door opened to admit Sam, the office boy.
"Mr. Lubliner," he said, "another feller is here about this here—now—Jacobowitz."
Elkan glanced through the half-open door and recognized the figure of Ringentaub, the antiquarian.
"Tell him to come in," he said; and a moment later Ringentaub was wringing Elkan's hand and babbling his gratitude for his brother-in-law's deliverance from bankruptcy.
"God will bless you for it, Mr. Lubliner," he said; "and I am ashamed of myself when I think of it. I am a dawg, Mr. Lubliner—and that's all there is to it."
Here he drew a greasy wallet from his breast pocket and extracted three ten-dollar bills.
"Take 'em, Mr. Lubliner," he said, "and forgive me."
He pressed the bills into Elkan's hand.