Irish -- United States -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Runaway wives -- Fiction
“It is.” There was no trace of resentment in his voice, nor did he show
the slightest irritation at being asked so pointed a question.
“Vell, I don't keep a pawn-shop. I got no license, and if I had I
vouldn't do it--too much trouble all de time. Poor vomans, dead-beats,
suckers, sneak-thieves--all kind of peoples you don't vant, to come in
the door vhen you have a pawn-shop.”
“Your sign said advances made.”
“Vich vun?”
“The one in the window, or I would not have troubled you.”
“Vell, dot means anyting you please. Sometimes I get olt granfadder
vatches dot vay, and olt Sheffield plate and tings vich olt families
sell vhen everybody is gone dead. Vy do you vant to give dis away? I
vouldn't, if I vas you. You don't look like a man vot is broke. I vill
put back de bottles. You take it home agin.”
“I would if I had any home to take it to. I am a stranger here and am
two weeks behind in the rent of my room.”
“Is dot so? Vell, dot is too bad. Two weeks behint and no home but a
room! I vouldn't think dot to look at you.”
“I would not either if I had the courage to look at myself in the glass.
Then you cannot help me?”
“I don't say dot I can't. Somebody may come in. I have lots of tings
belong to peoples, and ven other peoples come in, sometimes dey buy,
and sometimes dey don't. Sometimes only one day goes by, and sometimes a
whole year. You leave it vid me. I take care of it. Den I get my little
Masie--dat little girl of mine vot I call Beesvings--to polish up all de
bottles and make everyting look like new.”
“Then I will come in the morning?”
“Yes, but give me your name--someting might happen yet, and your
address. Here, write it on dis card.”
“No, that is unnecessary. I will take your word for it.”
“But vere can I find you?”
“I will find myself, thank you,” and he strode out into the rain.
Chapter II
In the days when Otto Kling's shop-windows attracted collectors in
search of curios and battered furniture, “The Avenue,” as its denizens
always called Fourth Avenue between Madison Square Garden and the
tunnel, was a little city in itself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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