"Forty thousand," said a voice at Abe's elbow.
"Come, gentlemen," the auctioneer cried, "we ain't making you a present of this house, exactly. Do I hear forty-one? Thank you, sir. At forty-one—at forty-one—at——"
Abe sidled up to B. Rashkin and in firm tones he made the next bid.
"Forty-one five," he said.
"Forty-one five," the auctioneer repeated, and B. Rashkin turned to look at the bidder. He started visibly as he recognized Abe, who bowed coldly.
"Why, hallo, Mr. Potash," Rashkin exclaimed. "I didn't know you was in the market for property."
"Why not?" Abe said.
"Well, on account you got a partner who——"
"You don't got to rub it in, Mr. Rashkin," Abe interrupted. "If my partner did know a good thing when he seen it, Mr. Rashkin, I don't need to be reminded of it."
"A good thing!" Rashkin said in puzzled accents. "Why, I ain't——"