The Fortune Hunter [32]
or capital, nothing but seven hundred dollars in debts to the importers of whom they bought.
Heilig shook off his stupor after a few minutes. ``No matter,'' he said. ``What's past is past.''
He went straightway over to Second Avenue to the shop of Geishener, the largest delicatessen dealer in New York.
``I've been burned out,'' he explained. ``I must get something to do.''
Geishener offered him a place at eleven dollars a week. ``I'll begin in the morning,'' said Otto. Then he went to Paul Brauner.
``When will you open up again?'' asked Brauner.
``Not for a long time, several years. Everything's gone and I've taken a place with Geishener. I came to say that--that I can't marry your daughter.''
Brauner did not know what answer to make. He liked Otto and had confidence in him. But the masses of the people build their little fortunes as coral insects build their islands. And Hilda was getting along--why, she would be twenty in four months. ``I don't know. I don't know.'' Brauner rubbed his head in embarrassment and perplexity. ``It's bad--very bad. And everything was running so smoothly.''
Hilda came in. Both men looked at her guiltily. ``What is it?'' she asked. And if they had not been mere men they would have noticed a change in her face, a great change, very wonderful and beautiful to see.
``I came to release you,'' said Otto.
``I've got nothing left--and a lot of debts. I--''
``Yes--I know,'' interrupted Hilda. She went up to him and put her arm round his neck. ``We'll have to begin at the bottom,'' she said with a gentle, cheerful smile.
Brauner pretended that he heard some one calling him from the shop. ``Yes right away!'' he shouted. And when he was alone in the shop he wiped his eyes, not before a large tear had blistered the top sheet of a pile of wrapping paper.
``I know you don't care for me as--as'' --Otto was standing uneasily, his eyes down and his face red. ``It was hard enough for you before. Now--I couldn't let you do it--dear.''
``You can't get rid of me so easily,'' she said. ``I know I'm getting along and I won't be an old maid.''
He paid no attention to her raillery. ``I haven't got anything to ask you to share,'' he went on. ``I've been working ever since I was eleven--and that's fourteen years--to get what I had. And it's all gone. It'll take several years to pay off my debts, and mother must be supported. No--I've got to give it up.''
``Won't you marry me, Otto?'' She put her arms round his neck.
His lips trembled and his voice broke. ``I can't--let you do it, Hilda.''
``Very well.'' She pretended to sigh.
``But you must come back this evening. I want to ask you again.''
``Yes, I'll come. But you can't change me.''
He went, and she sat at the table, with her elbows on it and her face between her hands, until her father came in. Then she said: ``We're going to be married next week. And I want two thousand dollars. We'll give you our note.''
Brauner rubbed his face violently.
``We're going to start a delicatessen,'' she continued, ``in the empty store where Bischoff was. It'll take two thousand dollars to start right.''
``That's a good deal of money,'' objected her father.
``You only get three and a half per cent. in the savings bank,'' replied Hilda. ``We'll give you six. You know it'll be safe--Otto and I together can't fail to do well.''
Brauner reflected. ``You can have the money,'' he said.
She went up the Avenue humming softly one of Heine's love songs, still with that wonderful, beautiful look in her eyes. She stopped at the tenement with the vacant store. The owner, old man Schulte, was sweeping the sidewalk. He had an income of fifteen thousand a year; but he held that he needed exercise, that sweeping was good exercise, and that it was stupid for a man, simply because he was rich, to stop taking exercise or to take it only in some form which had no useful side.
``Good morning,'' said Hilda. ``What rent do you ask for this store?''
``Sixty dollars a month,''
Heilig shook off his stupor after a few minutes. ``No matter,'' he said. ``What's past is past.''
He went straightway over to Second Avenue to the shop of Geishener, the largest delicatessen dealer in New York.
``I've been burned out,'' he explained. ``I must get something to do.''
Geishener offered him a place at eleven dollars a week. ``I'll begin in the morning,'' said Otto. Then he went to Paul Brauner.
``When will you open up again?'' asked Brauner.
``Not for a long time, several years. Everything's gone and I've taken a place with Geishener. I came to say that--that I can't marry your daughter.''
Brauner did not know what answer to make. He liked Otto and had confidence in him. But the masses of the people build their little fortunes as coral insects build their islands. And Hilda was getting along--why, she would be twenty in four months. ``I don't know. I don't know.'' Brauner rubbed his head in embarrassment and perplexity. ``It's bad--very bad. And everything was running so smoothly.''
Hilda came in. Both men looked at her guiltily. ``What is it?'' she asked. And if they had not been mere men they would have noticed a change in her face, a great change, very wonderful and beautiful to see.
``I came to release you,'' said Otto.
``I've got nothing left--and a lot of debts. I--''
``Yes--I know,'' interrupted Hilda. She went up to him and put her arm round his neck. ``We'll have to begin at the bottom,'' she said with a gentle, cheerful smile.
Brauner pretended that he heard some one calling him from the shop. ``Yes right away!'' he shouted. And when he was alone in the shop he wiped his eyes, not before a large tear had blistered the top sheet of a pile of wrapping paper.
``I know you don't care for me as--as'' --Otto was standing uneasily, his eyes down and his face red. ``It was hard enough for you before. Now--I couldn't let you do it--dear.''
``You can't get rid of me so easily,'' she said. ``I know I'm getting along and I won't be an old maid.''
He paid no attention to her raillery. ``I haven't got anything to ask you to share,'' he went on. ``I've been working ever since I was eleven--and that's fourteen years--to get what I had. And it's all gone. It'll take several years to pay off my debts, and mother must be supported. No--I've got to give it up.''
``Won't you marry me, Otto?'' She put her arms round his neck.
His lips trembled and his voice broke. ``I can't--let you do it, Hilda.''
``Very well.'' She pretended to sigh.
``But you must come back this evening. I want to ask you again.''
``Yes, I'll come. But you can't change me.''
He went, and she sat at the table, with her elbows on it and her face between her hands, until her father came in. Then she said: ``We're going to be married next week. And I want two thousand dollars. We'll give you our note.''
Brauner rubbed his face violently.
``We're going to start a delicatessen,'' she continued, ``in the empty store where Bischoff was. It'll take two thousand dollars to start right.''
``That's a good deal of money,'' objected her father.
``You only get three and a half per cent. in the savings bank,'' replied Hilda. ``We'll give you six. You know it'll be safe--Otto and I together can't fail to do well.''
Brauner reflected. ``You can have the money,'' he said.
She went up the Avenue humming softly one of Heine's love songs, still with that wonderful, beautiful look in her eyes. She stopped at the tenement with the vacant store. The owner, old man Schulte, was sweeping the sidewalk. He had an income of fifteen thousand a year; but he held that he needed exercise, that sweeping was good exercise, and that it was stupid for a man, simply because he was rich, to stop taking exercise or to take it only in some form which had no useful side.
``Good morning,'' said Hilda. ``What rent do you ask for this store?''
``Sixty dollars a month,''