CHAPTER XVII
"Did the sponger send up them doctors yet?" said Morris with a far-away look in his bloodshot eyes, as he entered his place of business at half past seven one morning in March.
"Doctors?" Abe repeated. "What are you talking about—doctors?"
Morris snapped his fingers impatiently.
"Doctors! Hear me talk!" he cried. "I meant kerseys."
"Listen here, Mawruss," Abe suggested. "What's the use you monkeying with business to-day? Why don't you go home?"
"Me, I don't take things so particular, Abe," Morris replied. "Time enough when I got to go home, then I will go home."
"You could do what you please, Mawruss," Abe declared. "We ain't so busy now that you couldn't be spared, y'understand. With spring weather like we got it now, Mawruss, we could better sell arctic overshoes and raincoats as try to get rid of our line already. I tell you the truth, Mawruss, I ain't seen business so schlecht since way before the Spanish War already."
"We could always find something to do, Abe," said Morris. "Why don't you tell Miss Cohen to get out them statements which you was talking about?"