They shook hands on the appointment and Morris turned away and ascended
the high stoop of an old-fashioned tenement. In the vestibule he
encountered a boy whose right cheek was apparently distorted by a severe
toothache.

"Do a family by the name Levin live here?" Morris asked.

The boy nodded and disgorged a huge lump of toffee, whereat the
toothache disappeared.

"Dat's me fader," he said. "Fourt' floor front east. He ain't in,
dough."

"Your father!" Morris cried. "Why, the people I am coming to see they
are greenhorns."

"Oh, yeh," the youngster replied; "dat's me fader's uncle. He lives wid
us."

"All right," Morris said. "Take me up there."

The youngster resumed his swollen cheek and escorted Morris up three
flights of slippery brassbound stairs. Without the formality of
knocking, they entered an apartment on the fourth floor where a woman
stood washing dishes.

"Mrs. Levin?" Morris said.

The woman nodded.