Abe grunted inarticulately and handed a match to Feigenbaum, who lit his cigar, a fine imported one, and blew out great clouds of smoke with every evidence of appreciative enjoyment.
"Where's Rifkin?" he inquired between puffs.
Abe shook his head and smiled.
"You got to ask me something easier than that, Mr. Feigenbaum," he murmured.
"What d'ye mean?" Feigenbaum cried, jumping to his feet.
"Ain't you heard it yet?" Abe asked.
"I ain't heard nothing," Feigenbaum exclaimed.
"Then sit down and I'll tell you all about it," Abe said.
Feigenbaum sat down again.
"You mean to tell me you ain't heard it nothing about Rifkin?" Abe went on.