"That's all right," Morris said, "you just wait and I'll bring Mr. Potash here."
He took the stairs to the cutting-room three at a jump. "Abe," he cried, "Miss Aaronson is downstairs."
Abe's face, which wore a worried frown, grew darker still as he regarded his partner malevolently. "What's the matter with you, Mawruss?" he said. "Can't you remember a simple name like Atkinson?"
"Atkinson!" Morris cried. "That's it—Atkinson. I've been trying to remember it that name for four hours already. But, anyhow, she's downstairs, Abe."
Abe rose from his task and made at once for the
stairs, with Morris following at his heels. In four strides he had reached the show-room, but no sooner had he crossed the threshold than he started back violently, thereby knocking the breath out of Morris, who was nearly precipitated to the floor.
"Morris," he hissed, "who is that there lady?"
"Why," Morris answered, "that's Miss Aaronson—I mean Atkinson—ain't it?"
"Atkinson!" Abe yelled. "That ain't Miss Atkinson."
"Then who is she?" Morris asked.