Aaron's face broke into a thousand wrinkles as he beamed his satisfaction. "Well, uncle," he said, "I must got to be going. I got a whole lot of things to do to-day. Take care of yourself." "Don't worry about me," Aaron's Uncle Mosha replied. "I could take care of myself all right. You wouldn't drink maybe a glass of _schnaps_ or something before you go? No? All right." He always delayed his proffer of hospitality until Aaron was on the front stoop. After the latter had turned the corner of Pike Street, Uncle Mosha lingered to take the morning air. A fresh breeze from the southwest brought with it a faint odour of salt herring and onions from the grocery store next door, while from the bakery across the street came the fragrant evidence of a large batch of _Kuemmel brod_. He sighed contentedly and turned to reenter the house, but even as he did so he wheeled about in response to the greeting: "How do you do, Mr. Kronberg?" The speaker was none other than Morris Perlmutter, who had tossed on his pillow until past midnight devising a plan for approaching Uncle Mosha in a plausible manner. Now that his quarry had fallen so opportunely within his grasp, Morris's face wreathed itself in smiles of such amiability that Uncle Mosha grew at once suspicious. "You got the advantage from me," he said. "Why, don't you know me?" Morris cooed. "I think," Uncle Mosha replied guardedly, "I seen you oncet before somewheres. You are a collector for a hospital or a orphan asylum, or some such sucker game. Ain't it?" Morris laughed mirthlessly. His discarded plan for renewing his acquaintance with Uncle Mosha had involved the pretence that he was seeking to interest the old gentleman in the Home for Chronic Invalids, Independent Order Mattai Aaron, of which fraternity Morris was an active member; and Uncle Mosha's apparent distaste for organized charity proved rather disconcerting. "You're a poor guesser, Mr. Kronberg," he said. "Then you are connected with some charity. Ain't it?" Uncle Mosha continued. Morris denied it indignantly. "_Gott soil hueten_," he said. "My name is Mr. Perlmutter and I am in the cloak and suit business." "Oh, I remember now!" Uncle Mosha cried. The news that Morris was no charity worker restored him to high good-humour. "I remember you perfect now," he said, shaking hands effusively with Morris. "You got a partner by the name Potash, ain't it?" "That's right," Morris replied. "And what brings you over here in this _nachbarschaft_?" Uncle Mosha inquired. Morris looked from Uncle Mosha to the tarnished brass plate on the side of the tenement-house door. It read as follows: M. KRONBERG REAL ESTATE "The fact is," Morris said, "I am coming to see you in a business way, and if you got time I'd like to say a little something to you." "Come inside," Uncle Mosha grunted. He thought he discerned a furtive timidity in his visitor's manner strongly indicative of an impending touch.