“Sholomonshon, ma tearsh, vat you mean? The suit lost! Vy it ain’t tried yet.”
“No mein söhn, it is not trite and perhaps never vills!”
And then he explained the purport of the letter.
“It’s a svindel!” said Isaacs. “Ow butch did he get from you, Solomonshon?” he asked, although he well knew.
“Eleving hundert! And we vos to get tree tousand—tree tousand pounds!”
He told Isaacs a lie, and Isaacs knew it.
“And now ve can’t get himsh? Is he got no monish?”
“No monish, but vat der shoot vood have bringsh.”
“And it is all gonesh?”
“Ja, tso! all gonesh if de lettersh be true!”