"Holy smokes!" he cried, as he opened the next envelope.
"What's the matter?" Abe asked. "Is it a failure?" He had read his own letter and held it between trembling fingers as he inquired.
"Look at this," Morris said, handing him a card.
It was a fragment of cheap pasteboard and bore the following legend:
| PHILIP GOLDMAN | SAM SLOTKIN |
| GOLDMAN & SLOTKIN | |
| Cloak and Suit Contractors | |
| Sponging and Examining | |
| PIKE STREET | NEWYORK |
Abe read the card and handed it back in silence.
"Well, Abe," Morris cried, "that's a fine piece of business. We not only got to take it the loft what Slotkin picks out for us, but we also got to give Slotkin our work also."
Abe shrugged his shoulders in an indifferent manner.
"You always got to run things your way, Mawruss," he said. "If you let me do it my way, Mawruss, we wouldn't of had no strike nor trouble nor nothing, and it would of been the same in the end."
"What d'ye mean?" Morris exclaimed.