"He don't have to give us no introduction," the elder female exclaimed.
"Me, I am Mrs. Sarah Mashkowitz, and this here lady is my sister, Mrs.
Blooma Sheikman, _geborn_ Smolinski."
"That ain't my fault that you got them names," Abe said. "I see it now
that you're my wife's father's brother's daughter, ain't it? So if
you're going to make a touch, make it. I got business to attend to."
"We ain't going to make no touch, Potash," Mrs. Mashkowitz declared. "We
would rather die first."
"All right," Abe replied heartlessly. "Die if you got to. You can't make
me mad."
Mrs. Mashkowitz ignored Abe's repartee.
"We don't ask nothing for ourselves, Potash," she said, "but we got it a
sister, your wife's own cousin, Miriam Smolinski. She wants to get
married."
"I'm agreeable," Abe murmured, "and I'm sure my Rosie ain't got no
objections neither."
Mrs. Sheikman favored him with a look of contempt.
"What chance has a poor girl got it to get married?" she asked.
"When she ain't got a dollar in the world," Mrs. Mashkowitz added. "And
her own relatives from her own blood is millionaires already."
"If you mean me," Abe replied, "I ain't no millionaire, I can assure
you. Far from it."
"Plenty of money you got it, Potash," Mrs. Mashkowitz said. "Five
hundred dollars to you is to me like ten cents."
"He don't think no more of five hundred dollars than you do of your
life, lady," Morris broke in with a raucous laugh.
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