"He had to go out, Jim," Frank replied. "He couldn't stand the sight of
the blood."
"Is that so?" the big man commented. "It beats all, the queer ideas some
people has."
"Well, Mawruss," Abe cried as he greeted his partner on Monday morning,
"how did it went?"
"How did what went?" Morris asked.
"The prize-fighting."
Morris shook his head. "Not for all the cloak and suit trade on the
Pacific slope," he said finally, "would I go to one of them things
again. First, a fat Eyetalian by the name Flanagan fights with a young
feller, Tom Evans, the Welsh coal-miner, and you never seen nothing like
it, Abe, outside a slaughter-house."
"Flanagan don't seem much like an Eyetalian, Mawruss," Abe commented.
"I know it," Morris replied; "but that wouldn't surprise you much if you
could seen the one what they call Tom Evans, the Welsh coal-miner."
"Why not?" Abe asked.
"Well, you remember Hyman Feinsilver, what worked by us as a shipping
clerk while Jake was sick?"
"Sure I do," Abe replied. "Comes from very decent, respectable people in
the old country. His father was a rabbi."
"Don't make no difference about his father, Abe," Morris went on. "That
Tom Evans, the Welsh coal-miner, is Hyman Feinsilver what worked by us,
and the way he treated that poor Eyetalian young feller was a shame for
the people. It makes me sick to think of it."
"Don't think of it, then," Abe replied, "because it won't do you no
good, Mawruss.
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