"Hallo, Sol," Abe cried. "What's the trouble. Ain't the oitermobile running again?"
"Do me the favor, Abe," Sol replied, "and cut out them so called alleged jokes."
He turned toward a waiter who was dusting off the tablecloth in front of Abe.
"Max," he said, stabbing at the steak with a fork held at arm's length and leaning back in his chair as though to avoid contagion. "What d'ye call this here mess anyway?"
The waiter examined the dish critically and nodded his head.
"Sally's-bury steak, Mr. Klinger," he murmured. "Very nice to-day."
"Is that so?" Sol Klinger rejoined. "Well, lookyhere Max, if I would got it a dawg which I wanted to get rid of bad, y'understand, I would feed him that mess. But me, I ain't ready to die just yet awhile, y'understand, even though business is rotten, so you could take that thing back to the cook and bring me a slice of roast beef; and if you think I got all day to sit here, Max, and fool away my time——"
"Right away, Mr. Klinger, right away," Max cried as he hurried off the offending dish, and once more Sol subsided into a melancholy silence.
"Don't take it so hard, Sol," Abe said. "We got bad weather like this schon lots of times yet, and none of us busted up. Ain't it?"
"The weather is nix, Abe," Sol replied. "If it's wet to-day then it's fine to-morrow, and if a concern ain't buying goods now—all right. They'll buy 'em later on. Ain't it? But, Abe, the partner which you got it to-day, Abe, that's the same partner which you got it to-morrow, and that sucker Klein, Abe, he eats me up with expenses. What that feller does with his money, Abe, I don't know."