Tin-Types Taken in the Streets of New York | Page 4

Ricketty proposed, and
when he finally dropped the pearls and struck an attitude of profound
admiration, Becky snatched the prize from her neck, slid it into a
drawer under the counter, and drew a leather purse from the safe behind
her. She had begun to count out the money, when a figure passing the
window caught her eye.
"There!" she said sharply. "You've been bothering me so long that Ike's
come back, and we've got to go through a scene. Two hundred and fifty
dollars! It'll break Ike's heart."

Mr. Ricketty snatched the pocket-book from her hands, coolly extracted
bills to the amount of two hundred and fifty dollars, returned the book,
and whipped out his handkerchief. As the Jew entered he beheld a man
leaning against his counter holding a wad of greenbacks in his hand and
sobbing violently.
Apparently summoning all his resolution, Mr. Ricketty dried his eyes
and fervently grasped the money-lender's hand.
"Ikey, my boy," he said, "I leave my all with you. I go from your door,
Ikey, like one who treads alone some banquet hall deserted. I have sold
you my birthright, dear boy, for a mess of pottage--a mere mess of
pottage--a paltry two hundred and fifty dollars."
Ikey turned pale. "Pecky!" he cried, "who vas der fool mans und vat he
means apoudt der dwo huntered und feefty tollars, hey?"
"Well may you call me a fool, Ikey; I can't deny it. I can't even lift my
voice in protest. No man in his sober senses would have sold that
necklace of glorious gems for such a miserable pittance. Here, Ikey,
take back your money and give me my pearls."
[Illustration: BECKY.]
He held out the greenbacks with one hand, while with the other he
placed his handkerchief to his eyes, of which with great dexterity he
reserved a considerable corner for the purposes of observation. At the
same time, Becky, well knowing that she had bought the pearls for a
sum which, though probably more than her husband would have
consented to give, was still far less than their value, handed him the
necklace.
The pawnbroker looked from money to jewels and from jewels to
money with an expression of curiously mingled grief and greed. Finally,
taking Ricketty by the coat-tails, he dragged him towards the door,
saying, "I nefer go pack by anydings vat mine vife does, meester, but
ven you haf shewels some more, yust coom along ven I vas der shtore
py mineselluf, hey?"

Mr. Ricketty shook his hand effusively. "I will, Ikey, I will. These
women are very unsatisfactory to deal with. Au revoir, Ikey! Au revoir,
madam!" and bowing with the utmost urbanity to the genial Becky, he
strode into the street.
It was easy to see, as Mr. Ricketty wandered aimlessly down the
Bowery, that his humor was entirely amiable. The knobs of ruddy flesh
under his twinkling black eyes were encircled by a set of merry
wrinkles, and his mustache had expanded far across his face.
[Illustration: THE PAWNBROKER.]
He had gone as far as Canal Street, and was just about to turn the
corner, when he heard a low, chirping sort of whistle. All in a second
his face changed its expression. The merry wrinkles melted and his
mustache drew itself compactly together. But he did not turn his head
or alter his gait. He walked on for several steps until he heard the
whistle again, and this time its tone was sharp. He stopped, wheeled
around, and encountered two men.
One of these was a darkly tinted, strongly built man, with big brown
eyes, tremendous arms, and an oppressive manner. To him Mr.
Ricketty at once addressed himself.
"Ah, my dear Inspector!" he cried gayly. "I'm amazingly happy to see
you. You're looking so well and hearty."
"Yes, Steve," replied the darkly tinted man, "I'm feeling fairly well,
Steve, and how is it with you?"
"So, so."
"I haven't happened to meet you recently, Steve."
"Well, no, Inspector. I've been West, but my brother's death--"
"I never knew you had a brother, Steve?"
"Oh, yes, Inspector; and a charming fellow he was. He died last week

and--"
"Was he honest, Steve?"
"As honest as a quart measure."
"And did he tell the truth?"
"Like a sun-dial."
"Then it's an almighty pity he died, for you need that kind of man in
your family, Steve."
Mr. Ricketty closed one of his little black eyes, and drew down the
ends of his mustache, but beyond this indirect method of
communicating his thoughts he made no reply to this observation.
"I suppose you're not contemplating a very long stay in the city,
Steve?" suggested the Inspector.
"N--n--no," said Mr. Ricketty.
"You seem in doubt?"
"No, I guess I'll return to the West this afternoon."
"Well, on the whole,