_, Sternsilver," he said. "Be a good feller. Here is five dollars.
Go away and leave us alone."

Sternsilver laughed aloud.

"You are talking like I would be a child, Seiden!" he said. "Either you
would give me cash a hundred dollars _oder_ I would go right away
upstairs to the customers."

Seiden turned to Fatkin.

"Fatkin," he said, "I am giving you this evening three hundred dollars.
Give him a hundred dollars and be done with it."

"What d'ye mean, me give him a hundred dollars, Mr. Seiden?" Fatkin
demanded. "They ain't my customers."

At this juncture the proprietor of the hall opened the door.

"Mr. Seiden," he said, "everybody is through eating; so, if you would
give me the key to the suitcase which you got the cigars and _Schnapps_
in, Mr. Seiden, I would hand 'em around."

"I'll be there in a minute," Seiden replied. He turned to Sternsilver
and made one last appeal. "_Nu_, Sternsilver," he said, "would you
take a check?"

"_Oser_ a _Stueck_," Sternsilver declared; but, although for five
minutes he maintained his refusal, he finally relented.

"Well, Mr. Seiden," he said, offering his hand, "I congradulate you."

Seiden refused the proffered palm and started for the door. Before he
reached it, however, Fatkin grabbed him by the arm.

"At such a time like this, Mr. Seiden," he said, "you couldn't afford
to be small."

Once more Sternsilver held out his hand and this time Seiden shook it
limply.

"No bad feelings, Mr. Seiden," Sternsilver said, and Seiden shrugged
impatiently.

"You, I don't blame at all, Sternsilver," he said. "I am making from my
own self a sucker yet. A feller shouldn't never even begin with his
wife's relations."

* * * * *

At the end of a year Hillel Fatkin left the employ of the Sanspareil
Waist Company to embark in the garment business on his own account.
Many reasons contributed to this move, chief of which was the arrival
of a son in Fatkin's household.

"And we would call him Pesach," Hillel said to his mother-in-law
shortly after the birth of his heir, "after your Uncle Pesach Gubin."

"My Uncle Pesach Gubin!" Mrs. Miriam Saphir protested. "What are you
talking nonsense, Hillel? That lowlife is Mrs. Seiden's uncle, not my
uncle."

"Your cousin, then," Hillel continued. "What's the difference if he's
your cousin _oder_ your uncle--we would call the boy after him, anyhow."

"Call the boy after that drinker--that bum! W