"Why, to the stock exchange, certainly," he replied.
"Must they buy it from us, Abe?" Morris inquired.
"Sure they must, Mawruss," Abe said. "Ain't Sol Klinger always selling his stocks to them people?"
"Well, Sol Klinger got his customers, Abe, and we got ours," Morris replied doubtfully. "Maybe them people would buy it from Sol and wouldn't buy it from us."
For the rest of the afternoon Morris plied Abe with questions about the technicalities of the stock
market until Abe took refuge in flight and went home at half-past five. The next morning Morris resumed his quiz until Abe's replies grew personal in character.
"What's the use of trying to explain something to nobody what don't understand nothing?" he exclaimed.
"Maybe I don't understand it," Morris admitted, "but also you don't understand it, too, maybe. Ain't it?"
"I understand this much, Mawruss," Abe cried—"I understand, Mawruss, that if Sol Klinger tells me he guarantees it I make twenty-five hundred dollars, and this here Milton Fiedler, too, he also says it, and a young feller actually with my own eyes I see it buys this stock because he's got information from inside people, why shouldn't we buy it and make money on it? Ain't it?"
Morris was about to reply when the letter carrier entered with the morning mail. Abe took the bundle of envelopes, and on the top of the pile was a missive from Gunst & Baumer. Abe tore open the envelope and looked at the letter hurriedly. "You see, Mawruss," he cried, "already it goes up a sixteenth." He handed the letter to Morris. It read as follows: