THE MAGIC BARREL
601
"Salzman--does he live here? Pinye Salzman," he said, "the
matchmaker?"
She stared at
him
a long time. "Of course."
He felt embarrassed. "Is he in?"
"No." Her mouth was open, but she offered nothing more.
"This is urgent. Can you tell me where his office is?"
"In the air." She pointed upward.
"You mean he has no office?" Leo said.
"In his socks."
He peered into the apartment. It was sunless and dingy, one large
room divided by a half-open curtain, beyond which he could see a
sagging metal bed. The nearer side of the room was crowded with
rickety chairs, old bureaus, a three-legged table, racks of cooking
utensils, and all the apparatus of a kitchen. But there was no sign
of Salzman or his magic barrel, probably also a figment of his im–
agination.
An
odor of frying fish made Leo weak to the knees.
"Where is he?" he insisted. "I've got to see your husband."
At length she answered, "So who knows where he is? Every
time he thinks a new thought he runs to a different place. Go home,
he will find you."
"Tell him Leo Finkle."
She gave no sign that she had heard.
He went downstairs, deeply depressed.
But Salzman, breathless, stood waiting at his door.
Leo was overjoyed and astounded. "How did you get here be-
fore me?"
"I rushed."
"Come inside."
They entered. Leo fixed tea and a sardine sandwich for Salzman.
As
they were drinking he reached behind him for the packet
of pictures and handed them to the marriage broker.
Salzman put down his glass and said expectantly, "You found
maybe somebody you like?"
"Not among these."
The marriage broker turned sad eyes away.
"Here's the one I like." Leo held forth the snapshot.
Salzman slipped on his glasses and took the picture into his
trembling hand. He turned ghastly and let out a miserable groan.
"What's the matter?" cried Leo.
