it for his own good, Mawruss, then that's
something again," Abe said; "because in that case we would not only lose
him for a customer, Mawruss, but we would also make an enemy of him
for life."

"You shouldn't worry," Morris replied as he put on his hat preparatory
to going out to lunch. "I know how to take care of a customer all
right."

Nevertheless Morris cogitated his partner's advice throughout the entire
lunch hour, and over his dessert he commenced to formulate a tentative
plan for restoring Alex Kronberg to his inheritance.

Two cups of coffee and a second helping of _mohn_ cake aided the process
of celebrating this scheme, so that when Morris returned to his place of
business it was nearly two o'clock.

"Abe," he said as he entered, "I've been thinking over this here matter
about Alex Kronberg, and I ain't going to talk to Alex about it at all.
Do you know what I'm going to do?"

Abe grabbed his hat and turned to Morris with a savage glare.

"Sure, I know what you are going to do, Mawruss," Potash bellowed
belligerently. "Henceforth, from to-morrow on, you are going to do this,
Mawruss: you are going to lunch after I am coming back. I could drop
dead from hunger already for all you care. I got a stomach too, Mawruss,
and don't you forget it."

* * * * *

Mosha Kronberg lived on the ground floor of his own tenement house on
Madison Street, and to say that Aaron Kronberg worshipped the ground
his uncle walked on would be to utter the literal truth.

"Well, uncle, how do you feel to-day?" Aaron inquired the morning after
Abe and Morris had so thoroughly discussed the Kronberg family
relations.

"I could feel a whole lot better, Aaron, and I could feel a whole lot
worse," Mosha Kronberg replied. "Them suckers has been after me again."

"Which ones are they now?" Aaron asked, his curiosity aroused.

"An orphan asylum," Mosha replied. "The gall which some people got it,
Aaron, honestly you wouldn't believe it at all. They want me I should
give 'em two hundred and fifty dollars. I told 'em time enough when I
would die, _Gott soll hueten_."

"What are you talking nonsense, Uncle Mosha?" Aaron broke in. "You ain't
going to die for a long time yet; and anyhow, Uncle Mosha, if people
goes to work and has children which they couldn't support while they are
living even, why should they get any of your money to support 'em after
you are dead? No one asks them suckers they shoul