"Nominations for treasurer are now in order. Nominations!"

"Moishe Goldberg"—"Moishe Goldberg"—"Moishe Goldberg," called out every one present at the yearly election of the Roumanian Sick Benefit Society.

"Any other nominations?" the Secretary asked.

"No, no, go ahead; it's Moishe Goldberg again, Mr. Secretary."

"He's good enough, good enough, Mr. Secretary."

And so Moishe Goldberg was elected Treasurer of the Society by acclamation. It was a yearly performance—since the last twenty years.

And this was not the only society for which Moishe Goldberg was Treasurer—there were a dozen. Every Jewish-Roumanian Society of New York wanted to have him act as Treasurer. Once he promised to accept the nomination, no other man would care to run against him, and the yearly election was merely a formality turned into flattery as far as he was concerned. His probity and financial responsibility were above par. His charity was proverbial.

At thirty he came from Roumania with his wife and two little girls. With the few dollars he had brought with him he opened a little grocery store on Clinton Street which prospered and developed into a bigger store on Rivington Street. Of a religious, old-fashioned turn of mind, he followed old Jewish traditions. His store closed Friday night, it remained so over Saturday; he also kept closed every Jewish holiday. He let his beard grow, and went regularly to the synagogue near Forsythe Street.

When he heard that some one chided him about his religious punctiliousness, he said: "I came here because I wanted religious freedom—what I have I want to use."

"Moishe Goldberg, money is needed for a new scroll."

"Put me down for a third of what it costs to get one."

When a woman bought less food than usual, Goldberg would ask, "What's the matter?"

"Husband is out of work."

"Well, do you want to starve him he should have no strength to look for work? Foolish woman! Take what you need; when he will work you will pay me up." And he would accept no thanks, Moishe Goldberg.

In spite of all he gave, his business grew. In a few years he had four stores, branched out in some leather finding business, and sold wholesale to smaller groceries in East New York and Brownsville.

His promptitude made the wholesalers vie with each other as to who should sell him most. His good nature attracted customers from everywhere. He signed no notes and demanded none. Every one trusted him and he trusted everybody. He had a little note book in which he wrote down what was necessary. For the rest he had an excellent memory.

Thus the business went on for years, and as the Jewish-Roumanian population grew on the east side his fame spread. By accident he became the owner of a few tenement houses. Rents were never due. People generally paid, and when they did not, because a husband was on strike or a child sick, it was soon forgotten.

Each evening he would take together all the moneys and checks of the day and put them in a leather handbag. The next morning the whole was deposited in the bank.

If a bill was due the same or the next day and there was not enough money in the bank, all he had to do was to 'phone up to one of his hundred wealthy friends and ask a check of two or three thousand dollars for a few days. On occasion it was reciprocated.

His home life was an ideal one. He lived in the district. His wife was as good and old-fashioned as her husband, and though the girls went through high school, all they had modernized themselves was to use a little cold cream, against which the father protested.

At twenty the older girl married a well-to-do furrier, to whom Moishe Goldberg gave a check of ten thousand dollars, after having promised only five, as dowry.

The whole affair was carried along old-fashioned lines, through a marriage broker. The wedding was an event. Members from twenty societies brought wedding gifts worth into the thousands.

But right at the wedding, Sofia, the younger daughter, fell in love with a cousin of her sister's husband, a young bookkeeper.

There was nothing against the young man. He came from a good family, was well educated in Hebrew. Of course he shaved. But Moishe Goldberg was tolerant enough to understand. To his wife's objections he answered, "It's better a Jew without a beard than a beard without a Jew."

There was only one serious objection. The young man was making very little money—twenty a week. But Sofia loved him. She was the only one now.

"And after all," Moishe Goldberg said to his wife, "maybe it's better so. I will take him into the business. Why should my son-in-law work elsewhere? Sofia will continue to live with us. There is plenty room in the house."

And Sofia agreed, and the young man agreed. The wedding of the first daughter took place in the spring, and that of the second daughter late in the fall.

In three different synagogues dinners for the poor were served at Moishe Goldberg's expense for a full week.

And because he gave no dowry, he sent checks to every charitable institution. He agreed to forget the monthly rent due from a dozen tenants. Many an old account was torn out. All the people working for him got a raise in their wages.

After the wedding the young couple went on a honeymoon to Chicago, where the first daughter now lived.

When they returned Moishe Goldberg took his son-in-law down to the store and showed him the new sign, "Goldberg & Waldman, Wholesale and Retail Grocers."

There was not much to be said. The two men kissed each other in sight of all the people on the street. The young man entered the store.

"This is your new boss," Goldberg said to his employees. "I will begin to sleep a little longer every morning from now on."

Waldman greeted the men, shook hands with some. His father-in-law showed him the back of the store, packed with boxes and barrels and bags. He brought him down the cellar where the herring barrels were deposited.

"Ephraim, my son, I will tell Sofia to make you an apron. I will make a regular grocer out of you."

The next day the young man saw merchandise come and go, checks come and checks go, with no order, no billing, Moishe Goldberg only noting down in his book an item here and there.

"And where are your books, father?"

"What books; who needs books, who?"

"Why, father, how can you carry on such a business without books?"

"You are as silly as all the other young chaps. I am twenty years in business and never saw the need of books. What I am afraid I won't remember I note down here—that's good enough for me. Have a look at my check book and see."

Ephraim Waldman went home a worried man that evening. It was Friday night, and the best fish ever cooked, for which Mrs. Goldberg was so famous, was not good enough to relieve his mind. Even Sofia's kisses were thrown away.

"What's the matter with Ephraim?" the mother asked.

"He wants books." Moishe Goldberg laughed aloud as he patted his daughter. "You can see he is a bookkeeper; without books he can't even eat fish."

Waldman wanted to expostulate, but his father-in-law cut him short.

"At home, and especially on Saturday, I don't allow business talk. If you can't be merry, go to your rooms with your wife."

"No use being so cross with him," Goldberg's wife said after the young people had retired.

"I don't want him to spoil my holiday, the young smut-nose-know-everything. Goes two years to school and thinks that even God owes him an accounting. He must remember that he is in Moishe Goldberg's house."

Saturday passed quietly. Sofia's eyes were a little red, but her husband seemed to want to make up for past misdeeds, and was very merry. At the synagogue he comported himself beautifully. Moishe Goldberg was especially proud of his son-in-law's reading from the scroll.

"Well, what do you say to my American? He reads from the Holy Scroll like a charm." And everybody complimented him.

Sunday was a half holiday, but on Monday when the business started agoing, Waldman could not stand it.

"Father," he said in the evening, "it can't go on that way. We must have some books. No business is carried on that way."

"Books! bosh; don't bother about books. Attend to business."

"But how can you know anything, father?"

"Not being a bookkeeper, I know my business. The best proof that bookkeepers are not business men is that they are working for somebody else."

The next day, and the next, and the next, Sofia's eyes were red from crying.

"What should be the matter with her?" Mrs. Goldberg asked her husband.

"The Talmud says, that a young couple are like a new wagon and a new horse. They must adjust themselves," was his answer.

But the mother was not satisfied with the answer, and she got her daughter's confidence.

"Ephraim wants to look for a position. He says he can't understand a business which has no bookkeeping. No modern business is carried on that way."

The long and short of the story was that Moishe Goldberg was browbeaten by the two women. He gave his little notebook to his son-in-law who undertook to make an inventory of all the assets of Goldberg & Waldman.

The old merchant had the fun of his life to watch the young man enter everything in his books. But the laughter died on his lips when this same young man told him that the assets were some sixty thousand dollars less than the liabilities.

"It's a stupid lie! Only a silly fellow with a bookkeeping mania could say such a foolish thing."

But the old man could not sleep that night. A few days later he was short of a couple of thousand dollars to pay a bill. He lacked the old-time courage to ring up one of his business friends. He could have gotten the money from his bank, but there too his courage failed him.

Little by little, yet rapidly enough, it was whispered about that the wealthy grocer was not as solid as had been thought. Six months after the wedding of his second daughter the red flag of the auctioneer hung in front of the store for the benefit of the creditors.

"But how did it all happen?" asked his first son-in-law, the furrier when he arrived from Chicago, at the news of the calamity.

Broken down, old, worn, sick, Moishe Goldberg moaned:

"Because my daughter married a bookkeeper."