"No, siree, sir," Harris Rabin bawled. "Forty-nine thousand is my figure, and that ain't forty-eight nine ninety-nine neither."
Here he recognized Morris Perlmutter with an elaborate start and extended his hand in greeting.
"Hallo, Mawruss," he said. "Them real-estaters pester the life out of a feller. 'Tain't no use your hanging around here, Henochstein," he called in sterner tones. "When I make up my mind I make up my mind, and that's all there is to it."
Henochstein turned in crestfallen silence and passed slowly out of the room.
"Them sharks ain't satisfied that you're giving
away a house, Mawruss," Harris went on. "They want it you should let 'em have coupons and trading stamps with it."
"How much did he offer you?" Morris asked.
"Forty-eight five-fifty," Harris Rabin replied. "That feller's got a nerve like a horse."
"Oh, I don't know," Morris murmured. "Forty-eight five-fifty is a good price for the house, Harris."
"Is it?" Harris cried. "Well, maybe you think so, but you ain't such a griterion."