"Mawruss," Abe shouted, at ten o'clock one morning in early March, "where was you?"
"Where was I?" Morris repeated. "I was to the court, that's where I was."
"To the court!" Abe exclaimed.
"That's what I said," Morris continued. "We fixed that sucker, me and Sholy and Doctor Eichendorfer and Baskof. We got him for a summons for this afternoon two o'clock he should go to the Jefferson Market Police Court. Till four o'clock this morning them people upstairs sits up hollering and skiddering. Minnie and me we couldn't sleep a wink, and Baskof neither. Steals our servant girl yet. I'll show that Rosher."
Abe glared indignantly at his partner.
"Do you mean to told me, Mawruss," he said, "that you are fooling away your time going on the court because somebody upstairs sings a little something last night?"
"Sings a little something!" Morris cried. "Why, that Italiener hollers Paliatzki till you would think he commits a murder up there."
"Suppose he did, Mawruss, ain't we got no business to go down here? Here we are rushed to death already, and you are fooling away your—"
"Don't say that again, Abe," Morris broke in. "I guess I could take off a couple hours if I want to."