"And now, Mr. Feigenbaum," Abe said, "I want you to look around our place. Mawruss is in the office, and he would be delighted, I know, to see you."
He conducted his rediscovered customer to the office, where Morris was seated at the roll-top mahogany desk.
"Ah, Mr. Feigenbaum," Morris cried, effusively seizing the newcomer by both hands, "ain't it a pleasure to see you again! Take a seat."
He thrust Feigenbaum into the revolving chair that he had just vacated, and took the box of gilt-edge customers' cigars out of the safe.
"Throw away that butt and take a fresh cigar," he exclaimed, handing Feigenbaum a satiny Invincible
with the broad band of the best Havana maker on it. Feigenbaum received it with a smile, for he was now completely thawed out.
"You got a fine place here, Mawruss," he said. "Fixtures and everything A Number One, just like Rifkin's."
"Better as Rifkin's," Morris declared.
"Well, maybe it is better in quality," Feigenbaum admitted; "but, I mean, in arrangement and color it is just the same. Why, when I come in here with Abe, an hour ago, I assure you I thought I was in Rifkin's old place. In fact, I could almost swear this desk is the same desk what Rifkin had it."
He rose to his feet and passed his hand over the top of the desk with the touch of a connoisseur.