"Experts from everywhere," Borrochson replied. "I must of got ten fellers here from every big safe house in town. I can show you the bills already."
Wolfson waved his hand.
"I don't want to see 'em," he said. "But on the front of the safe I see it, J. Daiches, maker, Grand Street, New York. Did you have him to look at it?"
"Daiches!" Borrochson repeated with a laugh. "I should say I didn't get him to look at it. Why, that feller Daiches don't know no more about safes than I do about aljibbery what they learn it young fellers by night school. He come from Minsk ten years ago and made it a little money as an operator on shirts. So he buys out a feller in Grand Street and goes into the safe business since only a year ago."
"I take a chance on him, anyhow," Wolfson declared. "So do me the favour and go to the saloon on the corner and ring him up."
Borrochson shrugged his shoulders.
"You're up against a bum proposition in Daiches, Wolfson," he said, "because that feller don't know nothing about safes."
"But he's in the safe business, ain't he? And a feller can learn a whole lot about a business inside a year."
"A horse could pull it a truckload of books for a hundred years, Wolfson," Borrochson said, "and when he got through he wouldn't know no more what's inside of them books than when he started; ain't it?"
"'S enough, Borrochson," Wolfson said, "if you're afraid to trust me alone in the store here while you go and telephone, why we can lock up the store and I will go with you."