"With that money, doctor, I called a bigger doctor, a Professor, a gentile, from uptown." THE PURE MOTIVE Down the East Side when one says "meet me at Grienberg's," he does not have to give street and number. To a certain class of people the place is as well known as the Waldorf or the St. Regis is to the rest of the population. Grienberg's food and wine needs no praise. Should one dare doubt the quality of the victuals the proprietor points out a few old men sitting at a corner table and remarks: "These men have eaten the same kind of food here for the last thirty years; and they are still alive." But good food and good wine is not the only attraction of the place. Its main feature is that the brains and the heart of the East Side has formed a year-long habit to congregate there. The philosophies and the religions of the world are dissected nightly at a dozen tables. Between two sips of tea the literature of a century is ruled out of existence, or some tenth-rate poet is crowned as the world's unequalled singer. Editors of dailies discuss yesterday's editorial with their political antagonists and give their verbal verdicts to story writers about a manuscript read between the soup and the dessert. The very latest in the world's politics is pressed through the finest of sieves at every table. In such discussion the office boy of the newspaper, Joe, the waiter, and the owner of the place have equal rights with the editors and philosophers. Meanwhile the musicians play Roumanian melodies, the latest vaudeville successes, snatches from operas, or some composer tries on the piano his latest melody while the poet, to whose words the music was set, leans on his elbow and listens attentively. The verdict is given on the spot and if it is liked, Katz, the music publisher, sends the manuscript to the printer the following day.