"What's the matter with that elevator, Mawruss?" he said. "It takes a year to get a package on to the sidewalk."
"That's on account of somebody moves in downstairs, Abe," Morris answered. "Kaskel Schwartz, what used to be foreman for Pinkel Brothers, him and Moe Feigel goes as partners together in skirts."
"Is that so?" Abe said, jamming his thumb on the elevator bell. "I hope he don't got the cigarettel habit."
At length the elevator arrived, and Jake, the shipping clerk, carried out the brown paper parcels comprising Feinholz's shipment.
"If that's the last I seen of them garments," Abe said as he returned to the show-room, "I'm a lucky man."
"Always you're beefing about something happening what ain't going to happen, Abe," Morris retorted. "Just a few minutes since you hoped Kaskel Schwartz ain't going to be careless about cigarettels, and now you're imagining things about Feinholz sending back the goods."
"Never mind, Mawruss," Abe replied; "in two days' time I shall breathe easier yet."
For the rest of the day it rained in a steady, tropical downpour, and when Abe came downtown the next morning the weather had moderated only slightly.
"Yes, Mawruss," he said as he entered, "that's a fine weather for a cloak business, Mawruss; and I bet yer, Mawruss, if we was making cravenettes and umbrellas yet we would be having a long dry spell."
He heaved a great sigh and approached the bookkeeper's desk, where Morris had laid the morning mail.