"No, you ain't yet," B. Gans replied. "Prosnauer and Kuhner knows me, Potash, and I am willing, as long as I got you into this, I will get you out of it. I will go with you myself, Potash, and I think I got influence enough in the trade that I could easy get them to give you back them samples."
"I know you can," Abe said enthusiastically, "and if you would put it to 'em strong enough I think we could swing back to us them orders from Sammet Brothers and Klinger & Klein."
"That I will do for you, also," B. Gans agreed. "But now, Potash, I got troubles ahead of me, too."
"How's that?" Abe inquired, much interested.
"I got it a lowlife what I hired for a salesman, also," he replied, "and three weeks ago that feller left my place with my samples and I ain't heard a word from him since. If I got to search every gamblinghouse in Chicago I will find that loafer;
and when I do find him, Potash, I will crack his neck for him."
"I wouldn't do nothing rash, Gans," Abe advised. "What for a looking feller is this salesman of yours?"
"He's a tall, white-faced loafer with a big red mustache," Gans replied, "and his name is Ignatz Kresnick."
Abe jumped to his feet.
"Come with me," he cried. Together they took the elevator to the eighth floor and, as Ignatz Kresnick dealt the cards for the five-hundredth time in that game, all unconscious of his fast-approaching Nemesis, Mozart Rabiner played the concluding measures of the Liebestod softly, slowly, like a benediction: