wered. "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.

"Gershon?" Uncle Mosha muttered. "Gershon!"

He rose to his feet and tottered across the room toward the doorway, but
at the threshold his strength failed him and he fell headlong to the
floor.

In the scene of confusion that followed only Henry D. Feldman remained
calm. He touched the electric button on his desk.

"Go down to the Algonquin Building and fetch a doctor," he said to the
office-boy who responded, "and on your way out see if we have any
blank petitions for administration in the Surrogate's Court. If we
haven't, buy a couple on your way back. The old man may not pull
through."

When Uncle Mosha's eyes opened in consciousness of his surroundings they
rested on Max Gershon, who bent over the old man as anxiously as did
either of his nephews.

"Max Gershon, ain't it?" Uncle Mosha asked feebly.

Gershon nodded.

"You shouldn't try to talk," he said.

"I'm all right," Uncle Mosha replied. "I need only a cup coffee. If
Aaron would let me got it before I come here this wouldn't never of
happened."

Aaron recognized the justice of his uncle's criticis