"Here, Abe," he said, as he glanced at the first envelope, "this is
for you."
Then he proceeded to go through the remainder of the pile.
"Holy smokes!" he cried, as he opened the next envelope.
"What's the matter?" Abe asked. "Is it a failure?" He had read his own
letter and held it between trembling fingers as he inquired.
"Look at this," Morris said, handing him a card.
It was a fragment of cheap pasteboard and bore the following legend:
PHILIP GOLDMAN SAM SLOTKIN
GOLDMAN & SLOTKIN
CLOAK AND SUIT CONTRACTORS
SPONGING AND EXAMINING
PIKE STREET NEW YORK
Abe read the card and handed it back in silence.
"Well, Abe," Morris cried, "that's a fine piece of business. We not only
got to take it the loft what Slotkin picks out for us, but we also got
to give Slotkin our work also."
Abe shrugged his shoulders in an indifferent manner.
"You always got to run things your way, Mawruss," he said. "If you let
me do it my way, Mawruss, we wouldn't of had no strike nor trouble nor
nothing, and it would of been the same in the end."
"What d'ye mean?" Morris exclaimed.
"Look at this here," Abe replied, handing him the letter. It was printed
in script on heavily-coated paper and read as follows:
MRS. SARAH MASHKOWITZ & MRS. BLOOMA
SHEIKMAN
SISTERS OF THE BRIDE
REQUEST THE HONOR OF YOUR CO.
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