"With a feller like Kuhner," Marks Pasinsky declared on the following Monday, "you couldn't be a cheap skate, Mr. Potash."
"I always sold it Kuhner, too," Abe replied; "but I never spent it so much as three hundred dollars in one week in Chicago."
"Sure, I know," Pasinsky agreed, "but how much did you sell Kuhner? A thousand or two thousand at the outside. With me, Mr. Potash, I wouldn't bother myself to stop off in Chicago at all if I couldn't land at least a five-thousand-dollar order from Simon Kuhner, of Mandleberger Brothers & Co., and we will say four thousand with Chester Prosnauer, of the Arcade Mercantile Company."
It lacked half an hour of Marks Pasinsky's train-time, and, in addition, Abe had grown a little weary of his parting instructions to his newly-hired salesman. Indeed, the interview had lasted all the forenoon, and it would have been difficult to decide who was doing the instructing.
"S'enough," Abe cried. "Let's make an end. I'll speak to my partner about it, and if he says it's all right I'm agreeable."
He repaired to the cutting-room, where Morris chafed at the delay in Pasinsky's departure.
"Ain't that feller gone yet, Abe?" he asked.
"I'm just giving him a few last advices," Abe replied.
"Well, I hope you're more successful as I was, Abe," Morris rejoined. "That feller's got so much to say for himself I couldn't get a word in sideways."
Abe nodded.