"Hallo, Abe!" Kuhner cried as Abe entered. "They told me you was a fit subject for crutches when I asked for you the other day."
"Who told you?" Abe said without further preface. "Marks Pasinsky?"
"Marks Pasinsky?" Kuhner repeated. "Why, no. He didn't mention your name, Abe. Do you know Marks Pasinsky, too?"
"Do I know him, too?" Abe almost shrieked. "A question! Ain't he selling goods for me?"
"Is he?" Kuhner said.
"Is he!" Abe cried. "Why, you don't mean to tell me that feller ain't been in here yet?"
"Sure he was in here," Kuhner replied, "but he didn't say nothing about selling goods for you. In fact, he got a fine order from me, Abe, for a concern which I never done business with before. People by the name Sammet Brothers. What's the matter, Abe? Are you sick?"
Abe gurgled once or twice and clutched at his collar.
"Did you got the samples here what he shows you?" he managed to gasp.
"Why, Abe, what's troubling you?" Kuhner said. "A sick man like you shouldn't be attending to business at all."