"Never mind!" Abe exclaimed. "You could knock an Italiener all you want, Mawruss, but you could take it from me, Mawruss, when an Italiener's got work to do he don't stand around talking a lot of nonsense instead of attending to business, like some people I know."
With this scathing rejoinder Abe trudged off toward the cutting room and Morris proceeded to the office. He had hardly seated himself comfortably at his desk, however, when Abe burst into the room.
"That's the way it goes, Mawruss," he cried. "Half the time we sit and schmooes in the showroom and we don't know what goes on in our cutting room at all."
"What's the matter now?" Morris asked.
"Harkavy has quit us again," Abe replied.
"Quit us!" Morris exclaimed. "What for?"
"Nothing. All I says to the feller was why them piece goods is on the floor, and he says he is sick and tired and I should get another designer."
Morris bit the end off a new cigar and glared ferociously at Abe.
"So," he said bitterly, "we lose another designer through you, Abe. What do you think, a designer would stand for abuse the same like a partner, Abe?"
"What d'ye mean—abuse, Mawruss?" Abe protested. "I ain't said no abuse to the feller at all; and even if I would, Mawruss, I guess I could talk like how I want to in my own cutting room, Mawruss."