"I do my bestest," Goldman replied. "Only we got to see it the varking delegate first and fix it up with him."
"Who is this walking delegate, anyhow?" Morris asked.
Goldman scratched his head to aid his memory.
"I remember it now," he said at last. "It's a feller by the name Sam Slotkin."
When Abe and Morris recovered from the shock of Goldman's disclosure they vied with each other in the strength of their resolutions not to move into Sam Slotkin's loft. "I wouldn't pay it not one cent blackmail neither," Abe declared, "not if they kept it up the strike for a year."
"Better as we should let that sucker do us, Abe," Morris declared, "I would go out of the business first; ain't it?"
Abe nodded and, after a few more defiant sentiments, they went upstairs with Goldman to estimate the amount of work undone on the Fashion Store order.
"Them Fashion people was always good customers of ours, too, Mawruss," Abe commented, "and we couldn't send the work out by contractors in this shape. It would ruin the whole job."
Morris nodded sadly.
"If we could only get them devils of operators to finish up," he said, "they could strike till they was blue in the face yet."