“Cold?” whooped Larry. “Listen, lady, do you hear this guy sayin’ he’s got a cold? What he’s really got is the gallopin’ consumption!”
§ 132 When Goldstein Really Cut Loose
A jobber in the cloak and suit line suffered a bereavement. His wife up and died on him. Possibly because it was neighborhood gossip that the couple had not lived together very happily the bereft one felt it incumbent upon him to manifest an unusual degree of distress.
Two days after the interment the husband, dressed all in black and wearing a broad mourning-band on his left arm, was on his way to his place of business. A fellow-jobber halted him and without preamble spoke as follows:
“Honest, Goldstein, I got to say it—for you I am ashamed that you should carry on so the way what you did at your wife’s funeral. As a mark of respect for you I went by your house day before yesterday and the way you acted—well, I could only say again: As one business man to another I am ashamed for you that you should act so.
“A wife, yes? They come, they go; you get ’em, you lose ’em. That’s life, ain’t it? So why, then, when you lose one should you carry on so I positively absolutely could not understand.”
“Did you maybe also come by the cemetery?” inquired the widower.
“Soitin’ly not,” said his friend. “I’m a business man and it ain’t that I could spare a whole day running way over on Long Island to a cemetery. I came by your house like I said before and when I seen how you carried on that for me was sufficient. Right off I came away disgusted.”
“You think I carried on at the house, huh?” stated Mr. Goldstein. “You should a-come by the cemetery. That’s where I raised hell!”