"I won't do nothing rash," Abe promised. "I'll kill him, that's what I'll do."
He took the stairs three at a jump and fairly ran to the dry-goods store of the Arcade Mercantile Company.
"Mr. Prosnauer," he cried as he burst into Prosnauer's office in the cloak department, "my name is Mr. Potash, of Potash & Perlmutter, from New York. Did you seen it my salesman, Marks Pasinsky?"
"Sit down, Mr. Potash," Prosnauer said, "and don't excite yourself."
"I ain't exciting myself," Abe exclaimed. "I don't got to excite myself, Mr. Prosnauer. I am excited enough already when I think to myself that that lowlife Pasinsky takes my samples out of my store and comes here with my money and gets an order from you for four thousand dollars for Klinger & Klein."
"Not so fast, Mr. Potash," Prosnauer began. "I've known Marks Pasinsky for a number of years.
He and I play auction pinochle together every Saturday night when he is in Chicago, and——"
"Auction pinochle!" Abe interrupted, throwing up his hands. "Das fehlt nur noch!"
"As I was saying, Mr. Potash," Prosnauer went on with a withering glance at Abe, "those samples are outside, and Pasinsky has asked me to ship them to Klinger & Klein, and——"
"Ship 'em!" Abe cried. "You shouldn't ship nothing. Them samples belongs to me."