Rashkin answered by banging the door behind him and Abe repaired to the cutting-room, where Morris Perlmutter was superintending the reception and disposal of piece goods.
"Who was that salesman you was talking to a while ago, Abe?" he asked innocently.
"That wasn't no salesman, Mawruss; that was a loafer," Abe replied.
"A loafer!" Morris said. "He didn't look like a loafer, Abe. He looked like a real estater."
"Well, Mawruss," said Abe, "to me a real estater looks like a loafer, especially, Mawruss, when he comes around with a bum proposition like he got it."
"What for a proposition was it, Abe?" Morris asked.
"Ask me!" Abe exclaimed. "That real estater gives me a long story about some vacant lots, and an estate, and the Independent Order Mattai Aaron, and a lot more stuff what I don't believe the feller understands about himself."
"But there you was talking to that real estater pretty near an hour, Abe, and you couldn't even tell it me what he wants at all," Morris protested.
"To tell you the truth, Mawruss," Abe replied, "I ain't interested in what real estaters says. Real estaters, insurance canvassers and book agents, Mawruss, is all the same to me. They go in by one ear and come out by the other."
"Why, for all you know, Abe, the feller would have maybe some big bargains."