Immediately out came drawers and down came boxes, and very soon the small counter was littered with piles of raiment variously gaudy which Spike viewed and disparaged with such knowing judgment that the salesman's respect proportionately grew, and Mr. Ravenslee, lounging in the background, was forgotten quite, the while they chaffered after this manner:
Salesman. "Here vos a shirt as can't be beat for der money—neglegee boosom an' turnover cuffs, warranted shrunk, and all for vun dollar."
Spike. "Come off, Aaron, come off! Fifty cents is th' bid!"
Salesman. "Fifty cents? Vy, on Broadvay dey'd sharge you—"
Spike. "Wake up, Ike! This ain't Broadway! And fifty's the limit!"
Salesman. "But shust look at dem pink shtripes—so vide as an inch! Dere's fifty cents' vorth of dye in dem shtripes, an' I'll give it you for seventy-five cents! On Broadvay—"
Spike. "We're gettin' there, Ikey, we're gettin' there; keep on, fifty's the call!"
Salesman. "Fifty cents! Oi! Oi! I vould be ruined! A neglegee boosom and turnover cuffs! Vell, vell—I'll wrap it up, so—an' I make you a present of it for—sixty! An' on Broadvay—"
Spike. "Come on, Geoff, Aaron's talking in his sleep! Come on, we'll go on to Mendelbaum's; see—we want shirts, an' ties, an' socks, an' collars, an'—"
Salesman. "Vait—vait! Mendelbaum's a grafter—vait! I got th' best selection of socks an' ties on Ninth Av'noo, an' here's a neglegee shirt with turnover cuffs—an' only fifty cents. But at Mendelbaum's or on Broadvay—"