“No, of course not. Washington I.” “Oh, heavens! I haven't called on them these two years. I'd be afraid to show my face inside their door. They'd overwhelm me with reproaches.” “Well, what of that? You could stand it, I guess. They're very nice people, the Kochs; people whom it is worth while to be on good terms with--so warm-hearted and unpretentious, and yet with their hundreds of thousands behind them. There isn't a smarter business man in New York City than Washington I. Koch, nor a more honest, nor a more open-handed. Look at that stained glass window he gave the congregation. And then, at the same time, he's a man of ideas, a well-informed man; and best of all, he's a pious Jew.” “Well, I'll tell you what I'll do,” said Elias; “I'll call on them, if you'll come along.” “I! Nonsense! I called on them last New-Year's, and shall call again next. That's the most that can be expected of me.” “Well, I shouldn't dare to go alone. If you'd come along, to keep me in countenance, I'd go. But alone--no, never.” There was an interval of silence. Suddenly the rabbi said, “Well, I declare, I'll do it. I'll do it, just to encourage you. There; let's go up-stairs and dress.” Pretty soon they left the house and sauntered westward arm-in-arm. Elias wore the Prince Albert coat that he had had made to be married in. It was a hot night, and it had all the qualities characteristic of a hot night in New York. The air was redolent of bursting ailanthus buds. Strains of music, more or less musical, were wafted from every point of the compass--from behind open windows, where people sang, or played pianos; from the blazing depths of German concert saloons, where cracked-voiced orchestrions thundered discord; from the street corners, where itinerant bands halted, and blew themselves red in the face; and from the indeterminate distance, where belated hand-organs wailed with mechanical melancholy. Third Avenue, into which thoroughfare Elias and the rabbi presently turned, was thronged by many sorts and conditions of men and women clad in light summer gear, and drifting onward in light, languid, summer fashion. It was intensely hot and oppressive; and yet, somehow, it was productive of a certain unmistakable exhilaration. The sense one got of busy, teeming human life, was penetrating and enlivening.