"Speak nothing," Rashkind cried excitedly. "Saturday would be too late. Everybody is working on this here proposition, Mr. Polatkin. Because the way property is so dead nowadays all the real estaters tries to be a Shadchen, understand me; so if you wouldn't want Miss Maslik to slip through Elkan's fingers, write him this afternoon yet. I got a fountain pen right here."
As he spoke he produced a fountain pen of formidable dimensions and handed it to Polatkin.
"I'll take the letter along with me and mail it," Rashkind continued as Marcus made a preliminary flourish.
"Tell him," Rashkind went on, "that the girl is something which you could really call beautiful."
"I wouldn't tell him nothing of the sort," Polatkin said, "because, in the first place, what for a Schreiber you think I am anyway? And, in the second place, Rashkind, Elkan is so full of business, understand me, if I would write him to come home on account this here Miss Maslik is such a good-looker he wouldn't come at all."
Rashkind shrugged.
"Go ahead," he said. "Do it your own way."
For more than five minutes Polatkin indited his message to Elkan and at last he inclosed it in an envelope.
"How would you spell Bridgetown?" he asked.
"Which Bridgetown?" Rashkind inquired—"Bridgetown, Pennsylvania, oder Bridgetown, Illinois?"