into his bubbling kettle with a flourish, and bringing forth the
finished product with a caper. Such potato chips were not to be had
anywhere else on Crescent Beach. Thin as tissue paper, crisp as dry
snow, and salt as the sea--such thirst-producing, lemonade-selling,
nickel-bringing potato chips only Mr. Wilner could make. On holidays,
when dozens of family parties came out by every train from town, he
could hardly keep up with the demand for his potato chips. And with a
waiting crowd around him our partner was at his best. He was as voluble
as he was skilful, and as witty as he was voluble; at least so I guessed
from the laughter that frequently drowned his voice. I could not
understand his jokes, but if I could get near enough to watch his lips
and his smile and his merry eyes, I was happy. That any one could talk
so fast, and in English, was marvel enough, but that this prodigy should
belong to _our_ establishment was a fact to thrill me. I had never seen
anything like Mr. Wilner, except a wedding jester; but then he spoke
common Yiddish. So proud was I of the talent and good taste displayed at
our stand that if my father beckoned to me in the crowd and sent me on
an errand, I hoped the people noticed that I, too, was connected with
the establishment.

And all this splendor and glory and distinction came to a sudden end.
There was some trouble about a license--some fee or fine--there was a
storm in the night that damaged the soda fountain and other
fixtures--there was talk and consultation between the houses of Antin
and Wilner--and the promising partnership was dissolved. No more would
the merry partner gather the crowd on the beach; no more would the
twelve young Wilners gambol like mermen and mermaids in the surf. And
the less numerous tribe of Antin must also say farewell to the jolly
seaside life; for men in such humble business as my father's carry their
families, along with their other earthly goods, wherever they go, after