And two minutes later B. Gurin fled wildly down the stairs, the
newspaper still clutched in his hand.

* * * * *

Although Leon Sammet had at first been actuated by motives of a somewhat
sordid nature in his negotiation of Mrs. Gladstein's betrothal, his
subsequent behaviour was tempered by the traditional hospitality of his
race. As for his mother, Mrs. Leah Sammet, she entered upon the
preparations for the reception with an ardour that could not have been
exceeded had Mrs. Gladstein been her own daughter. Thus, when Sunday
afternoon arrived, Mrs. Sammet's house on One Hundred and Eighteenth
Street presented an appearance of unusual festivity. The long, narrow
parlor had been liberally draped with smilax and sparingly decorated
with ex-table-d'hôte roses, until it resembled the mortuary chapel of a
Mulberry Street undertaker; and this effect was, if anything, heightened
by four dozen camp-chairs that had been procured from the sexton of Mrs.
Sammet's place of worship.

A fine odour of cooking ascended from the basement kitchen, and when
Jacob Asimof had entered the front door at the behest of a coloured man
with white gloves he sniffed the fragrant atmosphere of the lobby like a
coon dog at the base of a hollow tree.

"Am I the first here?" he asked Barney Sammet, the junior partner of
Sammet Brothers, who had been detailed by his elder brother to receive
the arriving guests, with strict injunction to keep an eye on the
cigars.