Page:Alien Souls by Achmed Abdullah (1922).djvu/141

Was there ever friendship between your race and mine?"

"Indeed, there was not, goat of a smell most goatish!" came the pleasant rejoinder. "But this is America. A free land, say you! A land of brothers, say I! Therefore, tell me, or"—with a significant back sweep of his right hand—"I may think too much of this being a land of brothers, and, being older than you, may feel morally forced to chasten your reck less spirit with many and painful beatings, as be comes an elder and loving brother solicitous of his younger brother's welfare. Do you get me?" he wound up disconcertingly in plain American English.

"Yes, yes, yes! … Zado Krelekian lives at 84 West Street."

"Is he rich?"

"Yes, yes!"

"Is he happy and honored and contented?"

"Yes. None more so."

"Good! Good! And—is his wife still with him?"

"Yes." The young Armenian essayed a lopsided smile. "She is with him, and she is beautiful and—"

"Silence, dog! Do not besmirch a woman with foul praise, or—"

But the Armenian twisted quickly away from his grip and ran down the street, rubbing his shoulder, while Mohammed Yar turned into West Street, looking at the numbers of the houses until he reached Eighty-Four.

Eighty-Four was a shop, swollen and bulbous with merchandise that tumbled across the counter and through the open door, spilling into the street itself in a motley, crazy avalanche. There were bolts of silk