Mr. Isadore Abrahams, the founder and proprietor of that deservedlypopular dancing resort poetically named "The Flower Garden," leaned backin his chair with a contented sigh and laid down the knife and forkwith which he had been assailing a plateful of succulent goulash. He wasdining, as was his admirable custom, in the bosom of his family at hisresidence at Far Rockaway. Across the table, his wife, Rebecca, beamedat him over her comfortable plinth of chins, and round the table hischildren, David, Jacob, Morris and Saide, would have beamed at himif they had not been too busy at the moment ingurgitating goulash.A genial, honest, domestic man was Mr. Abrahams, a credit to thecommunity.
"Mother," he said.
"Pa?" said Mrs. Abrahams.
"Knew there was something I'd meant to tell you," said Mr. Abrahams,absently chasing a piece of bread round his plate with a stout finger."You remember that girl I told you about some time back--girl working atthe Garden--girl called Nicholas, who came into a bit of money and threwup her job..."
"I remember. You liked her. Jakie, dear, don't gobble."
"Ain't gobbling," said Master Abrahams.
"Everybody liked her," said Mr. Abrahams. "The nicest girl I ever hired,and I don't hire none but nice girls, because the Garden's a nice place,and I like to run it nice. I wouldn't give you a nickel for any of yourtough joints where you get nothing but low-lifes and scare away all thereal folks. Everybody liked Sally Nicholas. Always pleasant and alwayssmiling, and never anything but the lady. It was a treat to have heraround. Well, what do you think?"
"Dead?" inquired Mrs. Abrahams, apprehensively. The story had sounded toher as though it were heading that way. "Wipe your mouth, Jakie dear."
"No, not dead," said Mr. Abrahams, conscious for the first time that theremainder of his narrative might be considered by a critic somethingof an anti-climax and lacking in drama. "But she was in to see me thisafternoon and wants her job back."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Abrahams, rather tonelessly. An ardent supporter of thelocal motion-picture palace, she had hoped for a slightly more gingerydenouement, something with a bit more punch.
"Yes, but don't it show you?" continued Mr. Abrahams, gallantly tryingto work up the interest. "There's this girl, goes out of my place notmore'n a year ago, with a good bank-roll in her pocket, and here she is,back again, all of it spent. Don't it show you what a tragedy life is,if you see what I mean, and how careful one ought to be about money?It's what I call a human document. Goodness knows how she's been andgone and spent it all. I'd never have thought she was the sort of girlto go gadding around. Always seemed to me to be kind of sensible."
"What's gadding, Pop?" asked Master Jakie, the goulash having ceased tochain his interest.
"Well, she wanted her job back and I gave it to her, and glad to get herback again. There's class to that girl. She's the sort of girl I wantin the place. Don't seem quite to have so much get-up in her as she usedto... seems kind of quieted down... but she's got class, and I'm gladshe's back. I hope she'll stay. But don't it show you?"
"Ah!" said Mrs. Abrahams, with more enthusiasm than before. It had notworked out such a bad story after all. In its essentials it was notunlike the film she had seen the previous evening--Gloria Gooch in "AGirl against the World."
"Pop!" said Master Abrahams.
"Yes, Jakie?"
"When I'm grown up, I won't never lose no money. I'll put it in the bankand save it."
The slight depression caused by the contemplation of Sally's troublesleft Mr. Abrahams as mist melts beneath a sunbeam.
"That's a good boy, Jakie," he said.
He felt in his waistcoat pocket, found a dime, put it back again, andbent forward and patted Master Abrahams on the head.
CHAPTER XV. UNCLE DONALD SPEAKS HIS MIND