"
We did and he offered to sell me a "parcel." As I did not care for it,
he went on to talk of the real-estate market in general. There was
a restaurant on that side of the block--The Curb Caf? we used to
call it--so we went in, ordered something, and he continued to
talk. He was plainly striving to sound me, in the hope of "hanging
on" to some of my deals. Of a sudden he said: "Say, you must
think I'm still jealous? May I not live till to-morrow if I am." And
to prove that he was not he added: "Come, Levinsky, come up to
the house and let's be friends again, as we used to be. I have
always wished you well." He gave me his address. "Will you
come?"
"Some day."
"You aren't still angry at Dora, are you?"
"Why, no. But then she may be still angry at me," I said,
indifferently
"Nonsense. Perhaps it is beneath your dignity to call on small
people like us? Come, forget that you are a great capitalist and let
us all spend an evening together as we used to." Was he ready to
suppress his jealousy for the prospect of getting under my
financial wing? The answer to this question came to me through a
most unexpected channel
The next morning, when I came to my Fifth Avenue office (it was
some eighty blocks--about four miles--downtown from "The
Curb" section of Fifth Avenue), I found Dora waiting for me.
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