“Manufacture a chop? How you mean?” Mr. Marx queried.
“How I mean? How should I mean? I mean I ain't got no ready-mait shops on hand shust now in dis estaiblishment; but I might mainufacture a shop for the right party. You see de point?”
“You mean you'll make a chop for him? You mean you'll give him a chop here, by you?” cried Mr. Marx.
“Vail, Solomon, if you was as vise as your namesake, you might haif known dot mitout my going into so much eggsblanations.”
“My kracious, fader-in-law, you're simply elegant, you're simply loafly, and no mistake about it. Well, I svear!”
“Oh! dot's all right. Don't mention it. I took a chenu-wine liking to Kraikory; he's got so much enterprise about him,” said Mr. Finkelstein.
“Well, what sort of a chop would it be, fader-in-law?” questioned Mr. Marx.
“Vail, I tink I give him de position of clerk, errant boy, and sheneral assistant,” Mr. Finkelstein replied.
“Well, Krekory, what you say to dot?” Mr. Marx inquired.
“De question is, do you accept de appointment?” added Mr. Finkelstein.