"And now, Elkan," Polatkin cried, "we got to fix it up with the other feller."
Hardly had he spoken when there stood framed in the open doorway the disheveled figure of Flaxberg.
"Nu, Flaxberg," Polatkin said. "What d'ye want from us now?"
"I am coming to tell you this, Mr. Polatkin," Flaxberg said thickly through his cut and swollen lips: "I am coming to tell you that I'm sick and so you must give me permission to go home."
"Nobody wants you to stay here, Flaxberg," Polatkin answered.
"Sure, I know," Flaxberg rejoined; "but if I would go home without your consent you would claim I made a breach of my contract."
"Don't let that worry you in the least, Flaxberg," Polatkin retorted, "because, so far as that goes, we fire you right here and now, on account you didn't make no attempt to sell Appenweier & Murray, when a boy like Elkan, which up to now he wasn't even a salesman at all, could sell 'em one thousand dollars goods."
Flaxberg's puffed features contorted themselves in an expression of astonishment.
"Lubliner sells Appenweier & Murray a bill of goods!" he exclaimed.
By way of answer Polatkin held out the order slip for Flaxberg's inspection.