"Look'y here, Abe," Louis said, "what are you going to do for me about that house? Counting the rent I collected and the money I laid out for carrying charges, I'm in the hole eight hundred and fifty dollars already."
"Do for you, Louis!" Morris replied. "Why, what can we do for you? Why don't you fix it up like this, Louis? Why don't you make one last campaign among the real-estaters, and then if you don't succeed maybe we can do something."
"That's right, Louis," Abe said. "Just try it and see what comes of it."
Then Abe handed Louis a cigar and dismissed the subject, which never again arose until Louis was on his final trip.
"Ain't it funny, Mawruss," Abe said, the morning of Louis' expected return—"ain't it funny he ain't mentioned that house to us since we spoke to him the last time he was home?"
"I know it," Morris replied, "but you needn't
worry, Abe. It says in the contract that Louis can't take a job as salesman with any other house till one year is up, and the boy can't afford to stay loafing around for a whole year."
Abe nodded, and as he turned to look up the contract in the safe the store door opened and Louis himself entered.
"Hallo, Louis," Abe cried. "Glad to see you, Louis. Another good trip?"
Louis nodded, and they all passed into the show-room.