Besides, the "parcel" seemed to be a
sure investment. But I was also eager to do something for him for
his own sake. And so I made an appointment with him by
telephone and called at his wretched little office again
"Where is the parcel you mentioned the other day?" I began.
"Where is it located?"
"Never mind that," he said, hotly. "There shall be no business
between you and me. Nothing but pure spiritual friendship. I made
a foolish mistake last time. I hate myself for it. If you were a
smaller man financially I should not mind it, perhaps. As it is, it
would simply mean that you help me out.
It would mean charity."
I laughed and argued and insisted, and he succumbed. We made an
appointment to meet at Malbin's, a large restaurant on Grand
Street that was known as the "Real Estate Exchange" of the
Ghetto. There I was introduced to a plain-looking man who
proved to be the then owner of the parcel, and closed a contract
for a deed.
Encouraged by this transaction, Tevkin rapidly developed some
far-reaching real-estate projects in which he apparently expected
me to be the central figure.
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