Zwiebel nodded his head slowly.
"You're a pretty good son, Rothman," he commented, "I must say. But, anyhow, you ain't very previous with your advice, because I made up my mind this morning already that that's what I would do, anyhow."
He lit a cigar and puffed deliberately.
"And now, Rothman," he said, "if you would excuse me, I got business to attend to."
"Just one word more," Ferdy cried. "My father has got a girl working for him by the name of Levy, and I think if you knew what kind of girl she is, you wouldn't want Milton to go with her any more."
Zwiebel rose from his chair and his eyes blazed.
"You dirty dawg!" he roared. "Out—out from my place!"
He grabbed the collar of Ferdy's coat together with a handful of his curly hair, and with a well-directed kick he propelled the budding advocate through the office doorway. After a minute Ferdy picked himself up and ran to the stairway. There he paused and shook his fist at Zwiebel.
"I'll make you sweat for this!" he bellowed.
Zwiebel laughed raucously.