"Hello, Ringentaub," Max cried. "I am bringing you here some customers."
Ringentaub bowed and coughed a warning to Dishkes and Mrs. Ringentaub, who continued to talk in hoarse whispers behind the partition.
"What's the matter, Ringentaub?" Max Merech asked; "couldn't you afford it here somehow a little light?"
Ringentaub reached into the upper darkness and turned on a gas jet which had been burning a blue point of flame.
"I keep it without light here on purpose," he said, "on account Sundays is a big night for the candlestick fakers up the street and I don't want to be bothered with their trade. What could I show your friends, Mr. Merech?"
Max winked almost imperceptibly at Elkan and prepared to approach the subject of the Jacobean chairs by a judicious detour.
"Do you got maybe a couple Florentine frames, Ringentaub?" he asked; and Ringentaub shook his head.
"Florentine frames is hard to find nowadays, Mr. Merech," he said; "and I guess I told it you Friday that I ain't got none."
Elkan shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"I thought might you would of picked up a couple since then, maybe," Max rejoined, glancing round him. "You got a pretty nice highboy over there, Ringentaub, for a reproduction."