Kleebaum, you could break your neck in a baby carriage yet."
"Well, don't get mad about it, Potash," Kleebaum said.
"Me, I don't get mad so easy," Abe declared. "Wouldn't you come
downstairs to Hammersmith's and take a cup coffee or something?"
Together they descended to the sidewalk where they were saluted by a
tremendous chugging from the Pfingst roadster.
"Say, my friend," the demonstrating chauffeur cried as he caught sight
of Kleebaum, "what d'ye think I'm running anyway? A taxicab?"
"You shouldn't get fresh, young feller," Kleebaum retorted, "unless you
would want to lose your job."
"Aw, quit your stalling," the chauffeur protested. "Is this the guy you
was telling me about?"
Kleebaum frowned and contorted one side of his face with electrical
rapidity.
"Say, my friend," the chauffeur replied entirely unmoved, "them gestures
don't go down with me. Is this the guy you was telling the boss you
would jolly into buying a car, because----"
Kleebaum turned to Abe and elaborately assumed an expression of amiable
deprecation.
"That's a salesman for you," he exclaimed.
Abe surveyed Kleebaum with a puzzled stare.
"Say, lookyhere, Kleebaum," he said, "if you thought you would get me to
buy an oitermobile by giving me this here order, Kleebaum, I'm satisfied
you should cancel it. Because again I got to tell it you, Kleebaum, I
ain't in the market for oitermobiles just yet awhile."
Kleebaum clapped Abe on the shoulder.
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