"Yah!" he jeered, "five-dollar tickets for a prize-fight for the likes
of youse!"
He fixed Morris and Mr. Burke with a final glare.
"Pearls before swine!" he bellowed, and banged the show-room door behind
him.
Mr. Burke looked at Morris. "That's a lowlife for you," he said. "A
respectable concern should have a salesman like him! Ain't it a shame
and a disgrace?"
Morris nodded.
"He takes me to a place where nothing but loafers is," Mr. Burke
continued, "and for two hours I got to sit and hear him and his friend
there, that big feller--I guess you seen him, Mr. Perlmutter--he told me
he keeps a beer saloon--another lowlife--for two hours I got to listen
to them loafers cussing together, and then he gets mad that I don't
enjoy myself yet."
Mr. Small shrugged his shoulders.
"Let's forget all about it," he said. "Come, Abe, I want to look over
your line, and you and me will do business right away."
Abe and Morris spent the next two hours displaying their line, while Mr.
Small and Mr. Burke selected hundred lots of every style. Finally, Abe
and Mr. Small retired to the office to fill out the order, leaving
Morris to replace the samples. He worked with a will and whistled a
cheerful melody by way of accompaniment.
"Mister Perlmutter," James Burke interrupted, "that tune what you are
whistling it, ain't that the drinking song from Travvy-ater already?"
Morris ceased his whistling. "That's right," he replied.
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