"Lookyhere, Rashkin," Perlmutter interrupted, "you're a real estater, and if you don't get up at eight o'clock then you get up at nine, and it's all the same; but me, I am in the cloak business, and I got to get downtown at seven o'clock, and so I'm going to tell you again what I told it you before. Go
and see Abe to-morrow, and put this proposition up to him like it was something you never told me nothing about, y'understand? Then if he makes the suggestion to me, Rashkin, I would say all right. Because if it should be me what would make the suggestion to him, y'understand, he wouldn't have nothing to do with it. And even if he should consent to go into it, and if we lost money on the deal, Rashkin, I wouldn't never hear the end of it."
Rashkin nodded and seized his hat.
"All right," he said, "I will do what you say, Mr. Perlmutter. But with them three lots it's like this: they're owned by——"
Morris yawned with a noise like a performing sea lion.
"Tell it to Potash to-morrow, Rashkin," he said, and led the way to the hall door.
Accordingly the next morning Rashkin entered the salesroom of Potash & Perlmutter, where Abe was scanning the "Arrival of Buyers" column in the Daily Cloak and Suit Record.
"Good morning, Mr. Potash," B. Rashkin said. "Ain't it a fine weather?"
"Oh, good morning," Abe cried.
"You don't know my face, do you?" Rashkin said.