"Dat's a pretty said spiel dat guy is tearin' off," he commented. "It
makes me tink of a dago funeral."
Abe nodded. He knocked at the door, and Liszt's transcription of the
_Liebestod_ ceased immediately.
"Well?" Mozart Rabiner cried and, for answer, Abe opened the door.
"Hallo, Moe!" he said. "You don't know me. What? I'm Abe Potash."
"Oh, hello, Potash!" Rabiner said, rising from the piano stool.
"That's some pretty mournful music you was giving us, Moe," Abe went on.
"Sounds like business was poor already. Ain't you working no more?"
"I am and I ain't," Mozart replied. "I'm supposed to be selling goods
for Klinger & Klein, but since I only sold it one bill in two weeks I
ain't got much hopes that I'll get enough more money out of 'em to move
me out of town."
"What do you make next, Moe?" Abe asked.
"St. Paul and Minneapolis," Mozart replied.
Abe handed him a large cigar and, lighting the mate to it, puffed away
complacently.
"That was a pretty good order you got it from Prosnauer which Sol
Klinger tells me about," he said.
Mozart nodded sadly.
"Looky here, Moe," Abe went on, "how much money do you need to
move you?"
Mozart lifted his eyebrows and shrugged hopelessly.
"More as you would lend me, Potash," he said. "So what's the use talking
about it?"
"Well, I was going to say," Abe continued, "if it was something what you
might call within reason, Moe, I might advance it if----"
"If what?" Moe inquired.
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