"Look a-here, Feinholz," Morris exclaimed in tones sufficiently loud for Feder to overhear, "what d'ye take us for, anyhow? Greenhorns? Do you think you can write us a dirty letter like that and then come down and get them capes just for the asking?"
"Ain't you getting touchy all of a sudden, Mawruss?" Feinholz cried excitedly. "You had no business to deliver them goods in such rotten weather. You know as well as I do that I couldn't use them goods till fine weather sets in, and now I want 'em, and I want 'em bad."
"Is that so?" Morris replied. "Why, I thought them garments was no good, Feinholz. I thought them capes wasn't up to sample."
"What are you talking about?" Feinholz shouted. "Them goods was all right and the sample's all
right, too. All I want now is you should ship 'em right away. I can sell the lot this afternoon if you only get 'em up to my store in time."
Morris waved his hand deprecatingly. "S'enough, Feinholz," he said; "you got as much show of getting them goods as though you never ordered 'em."
"Why not?" Feinholz cried.
"Because them goods got burned up on our freight elevator this morning," Morris replied.
"What!" Feinholz gasped.
"That's what I said," Morris concluded; "and if you excuse me I got some business to attend to."