They'll be only too glad to pay for it, Abe, because I
bet yer Miss Atkinson she give 'em a pretty big order already, Abe."
Abe frowned and then shrugged. "All right," he said; "if I must I must.
So come on now, Mr. Bramson, and look over the line."
In the meantime Morris had repaired to the bookkeeper's desk and was
looking over the daybook with an unseeing eye. His mind was occupied
with bitter reflections when Ralph Tuchman interrupted him.
"Mr. Perlmutter," he said, "I'm going to leave."
"Going to leave?" Morris cried. "What for?"
"Well, in the first place, I don't like it to be called out of my
name," he continued. "Mr. Potash calls me Ike, and my name is Ralph.
If a man's name is Ralph, Mr. Perlmutter, he naturally don't like it
to be called Ike."
"I know it," Morris agreed, "but some people ain't got a good memory for
names, Ralph. Even myself I forget it names, too, oncet in a while,
occasionally."
"But that ain't all, Mr. Perlmutter," Ralph went on. "Yesterday, while
you was out, Mr. Potash accuses me something terrible."
"Accuse you?" Morris said. "What does he accuse you for?"
"He accuse me that I ring up my Uncle Max Tuchman and tell him about a
Miss Atkinson at the Prince William Hotel," Ralph continued. "I didn't
do it, Mr. Perlmutter; believe me. Uncle Max rung me up, and I was going
to tell you and Mr. Potash what he rung me up for if you didn't looked
at me like I was a pickpocket when I was coming away from the 'phone
yesterday.
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