Ringentaub nodded satirically.
"That only goes to show how much you know about such things, Mr. Merech," he retorted, "when you are calling reproductions something which it is a gen-wine Shippendaler, understand me, in elegant condition."
It was now Elkan's turn to nod, and he did so with just the right degree of skepticism as at last he broached the object of his visit.
"I suppose," he said, "that them chairs over there is also gen-wine Jacobean chairs?"
"I'll tell you what I'll do with you, Mr. Merech," Ringentaub declared. "You could bring down here any of them good Fourth Avenue or Fifth Avenue dealers, understand me, or any conoozer you want to name, like Jacob Paul, oder anybody, y'understand; and if they would say them chairs ain't gen-wine Jacobean I'll make 'em a present to you free for nothing."
"I ain't schnorring for no presents, Mr. Ringentaub," Max declared. "Bring 'em out in the light and let's give a look at 'em."
Ringentaub drew the chairs into the centre of the floor, and placing them beneath the gas jet he stepped backward and tilted his head to one side in silent admiration.
"Nu, Mr. Merech," he said at last, "am I right or am I wrong? Is the chairs gen-wine oder not? I leave it to your friends here."
Max turned to Elkan, who had been edging away toward the partition, from which came scraps of conversation between Dishkes and Mrs. Ringentaub.