he tumbler of bicarbonate and made an
involuntary grimace. "Furthermore, I am knowing this here Miss
Silbermacher ever since she is born, pretty nearly!" Fischko cried.

"You did!" Elkan exclaimed. "Well, why didn't you tell me that, Kapfer?"

"I couldn't think of everything," Kapfer protested.

"Go ahead," Elkan said, turning to Fischko; "let me know all about
her--everything! I think I got a right to know--ain't it?"

"Sure you have," Fischko said as he cleared his throat oratorically; and
therewith he began a laudatory biography of Yetta Silbermacher, while
Elkan settled himself to listen. With parted lips and eyes shining his
appreciation, he heard a narrative that justified beyond peradventure
his choice of a wife, and when Fischko concluded he smote the table with
his fist.

"By jiminy!" he cried. "A feller should ought to be proud of a wife like
that!"

"Sure he should," Kapfer said; "and her and Fischko would be down at my
room at the Prince Clarence to-morrow at two."

He beckoned to the waiter. "So let's pay up and go home," he concluded;
"and by to-morrow night Fischko would got two matches to his credit."

"_K'mo she-neemar_," Fischko said as he rose a trifle laboriously to his
feet, "it is commanded to promote marriages, visit the sick and bury the
dead."

"And," Kapfer added, "you'll notice that promoting marriages comes ahead
of the others."

* * * * *

When Marcus Polatkin arrived at his place of business the following
morning he looked round him anxiously for his partner, who had departed
somewhat early the previous day with the avowed intention of seeing just
how sick Elkan was. As a matter of fact, Scheikowitz had discovered
Elkan lying on the sofa at his boarding place, vainly attempting to
secure his first few minutes' sleep in over thirty-six hours; and he had
gone home truly shocked at Elkan's pallid and careworn appearance,
though Elkan had promised to keep the appointment with Fischko. Polatkin
felt convinced, however, that his partner must have discovered the
pretence of Elkan's indisposition, and his manner was a trifle
artificial when he inquired after the absentee.

"How was he feeling, Philip?" he asked.

"Pretty bad, I guess," Scheikowitz replied, whereat a blank expression
came over Polatkin's face. "The boy works too hard, I guess. He ain't
slept a wink for two days."

"Why, he seemed all right yesterday when I seen him," Polatkin declared.

"Yes