"
"Go ahead, Mawruss," Abe said wearily. "You always get your own way,
anyhow. You say I am the dawg, Mawruss, and you are the tail, but
I guess you got it the wrong way round. I guess the tail is on the
other foot."
Morris shrugged.
"That's something what is past already, Abe," he replied. "I was just
talking to Wasserbauer, and he says he got it a friend what is a sort of
a real-estater, a smart young feller by the name Sam Slotkin. He says if
Slotkin couldn't find it us a couple of lofts, nobody couldn't."
"I'm satisfied, Mawruss," Abe said. "If Slotkin can get us lofts we
move, otherwise we stay here. So far we made it always a living here,
Mawruss, and I guess we ain't going to lose all our customers even if we
don't move; and that's all there is to it."
Mr. Sam Slotkin was doubtless his own ideal of a well-dressed man. All
the contestants in a chess tournament could have played on his clothes
at one time, and the ox-blood stripes on his shirt exactly matched the
color of his necktie and socks. He had concluded his interview with
Morris on the morning following Henochstein's fiasco, before Abe's
arrival at the office, and he was just leaving as Abe came in.
"Who's that, Mawruss?" Abe asked, staring after the departing figure.
"That's Sam Slotkin," Morris replied. "He looks like a bright young
feller."
"I bet yer he looks bright," Abe commented. "He looks so bright in them
vaudeville clothes that it almost gives me eye-strain.
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