"My living expenses is very little, I admit, Aaron," Uncle Mosha replied, after he had disposed of the second cup of coffee with noises approximating a bathtubful of soapy water disappearing down the wastepipe. "I don't make no fuss about my living, Aaron, but you got to remember, Aaron, that a man couldn't live on living expenses alone. Oncet in a while a feller likes to take a little flyer in the market and try and make a few dollars. Ain't it?" "What!" Aaron exclaimed. This was a phase of his uncle's character that had never been exposed before. "Yes, Aaron," Uncle Mosha continued; "living ain't only having a room to sleep in and food to eat, Aaron. Other things is living, Aaron. Stocks is living and auction pinocle is also living, and going oncet in a while on theayter is living too, Aaron. I may be an old man, Aaron, but I ain't dead yet." Aaron's pale face grew almost ghastly at these shocking disclosures, and when Uncle Mosha concluded his audacious creed with a furtive wink his nephew visibly started. "But you got plenty other money to invest in the stock market without you would sell the house, Uncle Mosha," he said. "Have I?" Uncle Mosha rejoined. "That's news to me, Aaron. You see in nineteen-seven was a big panic and some stocks is better as others. Them which ain't, Aaron, they went and gone so low, Aaron, they ain't never come back again and perhaps never will. Might you heard something about it in Port Sullivan maybe? Ten thousand dollars I dropped on them suckers down in Wall Street, Aaron." Uncle Mosha smiled blandly at his nephew, who grasped the edge of the table to steady his whirling senses. "But what's the use talking," Uncle Mosha continued. "What is _vorbei_ is _vorbei_; and I guess I would have another cup of coffee." "You had enough coffee," Aaron cried sternly. "So you gone and dropped your money on stocks, hey?" Uncle Mosha shrugged and extended one palm in philosophic resignation. "It was my own money, Aaron," he said. "I didn't stole it." "This ain't no time for making jokes, Uncle Mosha," Aaron retorted. "Who was it you was going to sell the house to?" "Maybe you know him," Uncle Mosha said. "It's a feller by the name Mawruss Perlmutter." Aaron Kronberg's pallor gave way to a flood of crimson, and for a moment he choked incoherently as he gazed at Uncle Mosha in amazement. "Why, that feller Perlmutter is a friend of Alex," he gasped at length. "Sure, I know," Uncle Mosha replied; "but even if he is a friend of Alex his money ain't counterfeit." "But he'd rob you of your shirt, Uncle Mosha," Aaron exclaimed. "He's a dangerous feller." "I'm used to dangerous fellers, Aaron," Uncle Mosha answered calmly. "I told you before, I dropped ten thousand in Wall Street." "Yes; and if you would sold this here house, Uncle Mosha, you would drop ten thousand more." "Not ten thousand, Aaron. I only got eight thousand equity in the house." Again Aaron stared at his uncle.