exclaimed. "From where
he pulls it down, Mr. Flaxberg?"

"Not from the pants business _oser_," Flaxberg replied. "The feller
reads the papers, Lubliner, and that's how he makes his money."

"You mean he is speculating in these here stocks from stock exchanges?"
Elkan asked.

"Not stocks," Flaxberg replied in shocked accents. "From _spieling_ the
stock markets a feller could lose his shirt yet. Never play the stock
markets, Lubliner. That's something which you could really say a feller
ruins himself for life with."

Elkan nodded.

"Even _im Russland_ it's the same," he said.

"Sure," Flaxberg went on. "_Aber_ this feller Kleidermann he makes a
study of it. The name of the horse was Prince Faithful. On New Year's
Day he runs fourth in a field of six. The next week he is in the money
for a show with such old-timers as Aurora Borealis, Dixie Lad and
Ramble Home--and last week he gets away with it six to one a winner,
understand me; and this afternoon yet, over to Judge Crowley's, I could
get a price five to two a place, understand me, which it is like picking
up money in the street already."

Elkan paused in the process of commencing the sixth pickle and gazed in
wide-eyed astonishment at his host.

"So you see, Lubliner," Flaxberg concluded, "if you would put up twenty
dollars, understand me, you could make fifty dollars more, like turning
your hand over."

Elkan laid down his half-eaten pickle.

"Do you mean to say you want me I should put up twenty dollars on a
horse which it is running with other horses a race?" he exclaimed.

"Well," Flaxberg replied, "of course, if you got objections to putting
up money on a horse, Lubliner, why, don't do it. Lend it me instead the
twenty dollars and I would play it; and if the horse should--_Gott soll
hueten_--not be in the money, y'understand, then I would give you the
twenty dollars back Saturday at the latest. _Aber_ if the horse makes a
place, understand me, then I would give you your money back this
afternoon yet and ten dollars to boot."

For one wavering moment Elkan raised the pickle to his lips and then
replaced it on the table. Then he licked off his fingers and explored
the recess of his waistcoat pocket.

"Here," he said, producing a dime--"here is for the dill pickles, Mr.
Flaxberg."

"What d'ye mean?" Flaxberg cried.

"I mean this," Elkan said, putting on his hat--"I mean you should save
your money with me and blow instead your friend Kleidermann to