Abe ran out of the hotel lobby straight into the arms of a short, stout person.
"Excuse me," Abe exclaimed.
"I'll excuse you, Potash," said the short, stout person, "but I wouldn't run like that if I got it the rheumatism so bad."
Abe looked at the speaker and gasped. It was B. Gans.
"What are you doing in Chicago, Potash?" Gans asked.
"You should ask me that," Abe snorted indignantly. "If it wouldn't be for you I wouldn't never got to leave New York."
"What do you mean?" Gans asked.
"I mean you gives me a good reference for this feller Marks Pasinsky," Abe shouted. "And even now I am on my way out for a policeman to make this here Pasinsky arrested."
B. Gans whistled. He surrendered to a bell-boy the small valise he carried and clutched Abe's arm.
"I wouldn't do that," he said. "Come inside the café and tell me all about it."