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Liebers and Sophie； with whom she had come； did not dare interrupt her
pleasure； but had to stay； yawning and cross； until the last strain of Home；
Sweet Home。
At parting he pressed her hand。 ‘‘I have been happy；'' he murmured
in a tone which said； ‘‘Mine is a sorrow…shadowed soul that has rarely
tasted happiness。''
She glanced up at him with ingenuous feeling in her eyes and managed
to stammer： ‘‘I hope we'll meet again。''
‘‘Couldn't I come down to see you Sunday evening？''
‘‘There's a concert in the Square。 If you're there I might see you。''
‘‘Until Sunday night；'' he said； and made her feel that the three
intervening days would be for him three eternities。
She thought of him all the way home in the car； and until she fell
asleep。 His sonorous name was in her mind when she awoke in the
morning； and； as she stood in the store that day； waiting on the customers；
she looked often at the door； and； with the childhood…surviving faith of
youth in the improbable and impossible； hoped that he would appear。 For
the first time she was definitely discontented with her lot； was definitely
fascinated by the idea that there might be something higher and finer than
the simple occupations and simple enjoyments which had filled her life
thus far。
In the evening after supper her father and mother left her and her
brother August in charge； and took their usual stroll for exercise and for
the profound delight of a look at their flat…housesthose reminders of
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many years of toil and thrift。 They had spent their youth； she as cook； he
as helper； in one of New York's earliest delicatessen shops。 When they
had saved three thousand dollars they married and put into effect the plan
which had been their chief subject of conversation every day and every
evening for ten years they opened the ‘‘delicatessen'' in Avenue A； near
Second Street。 They lived in two back rooms； they toiled early and late
for twenty…three contented； cheerful years she in the shop when she was
not doing the housework or caring for the babies； he in the great clean
cellar； where the cooking and cabbage…cutting and pickling and spicing
were done。 And now； owners of three houses that brought in eleven
thousand a year clear； they were about to retire。 They had fixed on a
place in the Bronx； in the East Side； of course； with a big garden； where
every kind of gay flower and good vegetable could be grown； and an arbor
where there could be pinochle； beer and coffee on Sunday afternoons。 In
a sentence； they were honorable and exemplary members of that great
mass of humanity which has the custody of the present and the future of
the racethose who live by the sweat of their own brows or their own
brains； and train their children to do likewise； those who maintain the true
ideals of happiness and progress； those from whom spring all the workers
and all the leaders of thought and action。
They walked slowly up the Avenue； speaking to their neighbors；
pausing now and then for a joke or to pat a baby on the head； until they
were within two blocks of Tompkins Square。 They stopped before a five…
story tenement； evidently the dwelling…place of substantial； intelligent；
self…respecting artisans and their families； leading the natural life of busy
usefulness。 In its first floor was a delicatessen the sign read ‘‘Schwartz
and Heilig。'' Paul Brauner pointed with his long… stemmed pipe at the one
show…window。
‘‘Fine； isn't it？ Beautiful！'' he exclaimed in Low…Germanthey and
almost all their friends spoke Low…German； and used English only when
they could not avoid it。
The window certainly was well arranged。 Only a merchant who
knew his business thoroughlyboth his wares and his customerscould
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THE FORTUNE HUNTER
have thus displayed cooked chickens； hams and tongues； the imported
sausages and fish； the jelly…inclosed paste of chicken livers； the bottles and
jars of pickled or spiced meats and vegetables and fruits。 The spectacle
was adroitly arranged to move the hungry to yearning； the filled to regret；
and the dyspeptic to rage and remorse。 And behind the show…window lay
a shop whose shelves； counters and floor were clean as toil could make
and keep them； and whose air was saturated with the most delicious odors。
Mrs。 Brauner nodded。 ‘‘Heilig was up at half…past four this
morning；'' she said。 ‘‘He cleans out every morning and he moves
everything twice a week。'' She had a round； honest face that was an
inspiring study in simplicity； sense and sentiment。
‘‘What a worker！'' was her husband's comment。 ‘‘So unlike most of
the young men nowadays。 If August were only like him！''
‘‘You'd think Heilig was a drone if he were your son；'' replied Mrs。
Brauner。 She knew that if any one else had dared thus to attack their boy；
his father would have been growling and snapping like an angry bear。
‘‘That's right！'' he retorted with mock scorn。 ‘‘Defend your
children！ You'll be excusing Hilda for putting off Heilig next。''
‘‘She'll marry himgive her time；'' said Mrs。 Brauner。 ‘‘She's
romantic； but she's sensible； toowhy； she was born to make a good wife
to a hard…working man。 Where's there another woman that knows the
business as she does？ You admit on her birthdays that she's the only real
helper you ever had。''
‘‘Except you；'' said her husband。
‘‘Never mind me。'' Mrs。 Brauner pretended to disdain the
compliment。
Brauner understood； however。 ‘‘We have had the best； you and I；''
said he。
‘‘Arbeit und Liebe und Heim。 Nicht wahr？'' Otto Heilig appeared in
his doorway and greeted them awkwardly。 Nor did their cordiality lessen
his embarrassment。 His pink and white skin was rosy red and his frank
blue…gray eyes shifted uneasily。 But he was smiling with eager
friendliness； showing even； sound； white teeth。
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‘‘You are coming to see us to…morrow？'' asked Mrs。 Braunerhe
always called on Sunday afternoons and stayed until five； when he had to
open shop for the Sunday supper rush。
‘‘Whythat isnot exactlyno；'' he stammered。 Hilda had told him
not to come； but he knew that if he admitted it to her parents they would
be severe with her。 He didn't like anybody to be severe with Hilda； and
he felt that their way of helping his courtship was not suited to the modern
ideas。 ‘‘They make her hate me；'' he often muttered。 But if he resented
it he would offend them and Hilda too； if he acquiesced he encouraged
them and added to Hilda's exasperation。
Mrs。 Brauner knew at once that Hilda was in some way the cause of
the break in the custom。 ‘‘Oh； you must come；'' she said。 ‘‘We'd feel
strange all week if we didn't see you on Sunday。''
‘‘YesI must have my cards；'' insisted Brauner。 He and Otto always
played pinochle； Otto's eyes most of the time and his thoughts all the time
were on Hilda； in the corner； at the zither； playing the maddest； most
romantic music； her father therefore usually won； poor at the game though
he was。 It made him cross to lose； and Otto sometimes defeated his own
luck deliberately when love refused to do it for him。
‘‘Very well； thenthat isif I can I'll try to come。''
Several customers pushed past him into his shop and he had to rejoin
his partner； Schwartz； behind the counters。 Brauner and his wife walked
slowly homeit was late and there would be more business than