"J. P. Morgan also," Max replied. "And them Jacobean chairs there you could get for fifty dollars already."
"Well, it wouldn't do no harm supposing we would go down and see 'em," Yetta suggested.
"Some night next week," Elkan added, "oder the week after."
"For that matter, we could go to-night too," Max rejoined. "Sunday is like any other night down on Allen Street, and you got to remember that Jacobean chairs is something which you couldn't get whenever you want 'em. Let me tell you just what they look like."
Here he descanted so successfully on the beauty of Jacobean furniture that Yetta added her persuasion to his, and Elkan at length surrendered.
"All right," he said. "First we would have a little something to eat and then we would go down there."
Hence, a few minutes after eight that evening they alighted at the Spring Street subway station; and Max Merech piloted Elkan and Yetta beneath elevated railroads and past the windows of brass shops, with their gleaming show of candlesticks and samovars, to a little basement store near the corner of Rivington Street.
"It don't look like much," Max apologized as he descended the few steps leading to the entrance; "aber he's got an elegant stock inside."
When he opened the door a trigger affixed to the door knocked against a rusty bell, but no one responded. Instead, from behind a partition in the rear came sounds of an angry dispute; and as Elkan closed the door behind him one of the voices rose higher than the rest.
"Take my life—take my blood, Mr. Sammet!" it said; "because I am making you the best proposition I can, and that's all there is to it."