"Are you going home on the New Haven road oder the Harlem road?" he asked.
Morris scowled, and his indignation lent such force to the gesture with which he put on his hat that the impact sounded like a blow on a tambourine.
"Schon gut, Gurin," he said. "I am through with you."
He paused at the doorway and lit a cigar.
"And one thing I could tell you, Gurin," he concluded. "Either you would send us a check the first thing to-morrow morning, oder we would give your account to our lawyers, and that's all there is to it."
He puffed away at his cigar as he trudged down the street, and he had nearly reached the corner when he heard a familiar voice shouting: "Mr. Perlmutter!" He turned to view B. Gurin hastening after him.
"Well, Gurin," he grunted, "what you want now?"
Gurin stopped and gasped for breath, and Morris's heart gave a triumphant leap as he noted the anxiety displayed on B. Gurin's clean-shaven features.
"Speak up, Gurin," he said; "I got to get my train."
Gurin smiled in surrender.