"Mawruss," he hissed, "that young feller—that—that—now, Ike—is telephoning."
"Well," Morris replied, "one telephone message ain't going to put us into bankruptcy, Abe."
"Bankruptcy, nothing!" Abe exclaimed. "He's telephoning to his Uncle Max Tuchman."
Morris jumped to his feet, and on the tips of their toes they darted to the rear of the store.
"All right, Uncle Max," they heard Ralph Tuchman say. "I'll see you to-night. Good-by."
Abe and Morris exchanged significant glances, while Ralph slunk guiltily away to Miss Cohen's desk.
"Let's fire him on the spot," Abe said.
Morris shook his head. "What good will that do, Abe?" Morris replied. "We ain't certain that he told Max Tuchman nothing, Abe. For all you and me know, Max may of rung him up about something quite different already."
"I believe it, Mawruss," Abe said ironically. "But, anyhow, I'm going to ring up that oitermobile concern on Forty-sixth Street and tell 'em to send it around here at twelve o'clock. Then you can go up there to the hotel, and if that Miss Atkinson ain't had her lunch yet buy it for her, Mawruss, for so sure as you stand there I bet yer that young feller, Ike, has rung up this here Max Tuchman and told him all
about us going up there to take her out in an oitermobile. I bet yer Max will get the biggest oitermobile he can find up there right away, and he's going to steal her away from us, sure, if we don't hustle."