floor is occupied by a photographer, the fourth by a dealer in
picture frames, the third and the second are let out for offices. Over the
first hangs the gilded symbol of the three balls and the further
information, lettered on a signboard, "Isaac Buxbaum, Money to Loan."
The basement is given over to a restaurant-keeper whose identity is
fixed by the testimony of another signboard, bearing the two words,
"Butter-cake Bob's." Mr. Ricketty's little black eyes wander for an
instant up and down the front of the building, and then he trips lightly
down the basement steps into the restaurant.
A score or more of small tables fastened securely to the floor--for many,
as Bob often said, "comes here deep in liquor an' can't tell a white-pine
table from a black felt hat"--were disposed about the room at measured
distances from each other, equipped with four short-legged stools, a set
of casters, and a jar of sugar, all so firmly fixed as to baffle both
cupidity and nervousness. On walls, posts, and pillars were hung a
number of allusions to the variety and excellence of Bob's larder.
It was represented that coffee and cakes could be obtained for the
trifling sum of ten cents, that corned-beef hash was a specialty, and that
as for Bob's chicken soup it was the best in the Bowery. Apparently
attracted by this statement, Mr. Ricketty sat down, and intimated to a
large young man who presented himself that he was willing to try the
chicken soup together with a cup of coffee.
The young man lifted his head and shouted vociferously toward the
ceiling, "Chicken in de bowl, draw one!"
"My friend," said Mr. Ricketty, "what a noble pair of lungs you've got
and what a fine quality of voice."
The young man grinned cheerfully.
"I am tempted to lavish a cigar on you," continued Mr. Ricketty, "in
token of my regard for those lungs. A cigar represents to me a large
amount of capital, but it shall all be yours if you'll just step upstairs and
see if my old friend, Ike Buxbaum, is in."
"He aint in," said the waiter.
"How do you know?"
"I jist seen him goin' down de street."
"Who runs his business when he adjourns to the street."
"Dunno. Guess it's his wife."
"Aha! the beauteous Becky?"
"I dunno; I've seen a woman in dere."
"You're sure Ike has gone off, are you?"
"Didn't I say I seen him?"
"True. I am answered. My friend, there's the cigar. There, too, are the
fifteen cents wherewith to pay for my frugal luncheon. Look upon the
luncheon when it comes as yours. I bethink me of an immediate
engagement," and rising abruptly Mr. Ricketty hastened out of the
restaurant into the street.
[Illustration: "CHICKEN IN DE BOWL, DRAW ONE!"]
He glanced quickly through the pawnshop window and made out the
figure of a woman standing within among the shadows. He adjusted his
hat to his head and a winsome smile to his countenance, and entered.
"Good-morning!" he said, breezily, to the young woman who came
forward, "where's Ike?"
"Gone out," she answered, looking him over carefully.
"Tut, tut, tut," said Mr. Ricketty, as if utterly annoyed and disappointed.
"That's too bad. Will he be gone long?"
"All the morning."
"Will he now? Well, I'll call again," and Mr. Ricketty started for the
door. He stopped when he had gone a step or two, however, and,
wheeling about, looked earnestly at Becky.
"Let me see," he said, "you must be Ike's wife. You must be the fair and
radiant Becky. There's no doubt of it, not the least, now, is there?"
"Well, what if there aint?" said Becky, coolly.
"Why if there aint you ought to know me. You ought to have heard Ike
speaking of his friend Ricketty. You ought to have heard him telling of
what a good-for-nothing old fool I am. If you are Becky, then you and I
are old friends."
"S'posin' we be," said Becky, "what then?"
"To be sure," Mr. Ricketty replied, "what then? Then, Becky, fair
daughter of Israel, I've a treasure for you. I always lay my treasure at
the feet of my friends. This may not be wise; it may not be the way to
grow rich; but it is Steve Ricketty's way, and he can't help it. I have a
treasure here now for you. It has taken months of suffering and sorrow
to induce me to part with it. Around it cluster memories of other and
brighter days. Look!"
Mr. Ricketty produced a string of large and beautiful pearls. They were
evidently of the very finest quality, and Becky's black eyes sparkled as
she caught their radiance.
"See," said Mr. Ricketty, "see the bedazzling heirloom. Full oft, sweet
Jewess, have I
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