"Unreal estate," I would
call it. My friend Nodelman was of the same opinion. "It's a poker
game traveling under a false passport," was his way of putting it.
Once, as I sat in a Brooklyn street-car, I was accosted by a
bewigged woman who occupied the next seat and whom I had
never seen before
"You speak Yiddish, don't you?" she began, after scrutinizing me
quite unceremoniously
"I do. Why?"
"I just wanted to know."
"Is that all?"
"Well, it is and it is not," she said, with a shrewd, good-natured
smile.
"Since we are talking, I might as well ask you if you would not
care to take a look at a couple of new houses in East New York."
I did not interrupt her and she proceeded to describe the houses
and the bargain they represented
When she finally paused for my answer and I perpetrated a labored
witticism about her "peddling real estate in street-cars" she flared
up: "Why not? Is it anything to be ashamed of or to hide? Did I
steal those houses? I can assure you I paid good money for them.
So why should I be afraid to speak about them? And when I say it
is a bargain, I mean it.
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