"The feller is A number one, Mawruss," Abe said. "I stopped off to see Sam Feder at the Kosciusko Bank, and Sam sent me to the Associated Information Bureau. He is rated twenty to thirty thousand; credit good."
"Yes?" Morris replied. "Tell me, Abe, did Mosha Kronberg say just when he would be here?"
"What are you wasting your time about Mosha Kronberg for?" Abe retorted. "We got enough to do we should pick out a few good styles to show Gershon."
Morris nodded absently. His thoughts were centred on a short old man with close-cropped beard who at that very moment was turning the corner of Fifth Avenue and Nineteenth Street. Simultaneously Aaron Kronberg ran across the street from Sammet Brothers' doorway and clapped the old gentleman on the shoulder.
"Hello, Uncle Mosha!" he cried. "What are you doing around here?"
"Couldn't I come uptown oncet in a while if I would want to?" Uncle Mosha replied, somewhat testily.
"Sure, sure," Aaron Kronberg hastened to say. "Did you eat yet?"
"I never eat in the middle of the day," Uncle Mosha said. "I am up here on business."
"On business?" Aaron repeated. "What for business?"
"I think I sold the house," Mosha replied.