It was a
gesticulating, jabbering, whispering, excited throng, resembling
the crowd of curb-brokers on Broad Street. Hence the nickname
"The Curb" by which that corner was getting to be known
I was talking to Tevkin when somebody slapped me on the back
"Hello, Levinsky! Hello!"
"Margolis!"
His face had the florid hue of worn, nervous, middle age. "I heard
you were buying. Is it true? Well, how goes it, great man?"
"How have you been?"
"Can't kick. Of course, compared to a big fellow like David
Levinsky, I am a fly."
I excused myself to Tevkin and took Margolis to the quieter side of
the Avenue
"Glad to see you, upon my word," he said. "Well, let bygones by
bygones.
It's about time we forgot it all."
"There is nothing to forget."
"Honest?"
"Honest! Is that idiotic notion still sticking in your brain?"
"Why, no. Not at all. May I not live till to-morrow if it does. You
are not angry at me, are you? Come, now, say that you are not."
I smiled and shrugged my shoulders
"Well, shake hands, then.
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