“Who is willing to run a chance, Mawruss?” Abe cried.  “Just to show you I ain’t willing to run a chance I will go right down to J. Blaustein and take out a ten-thousand-dollar policy, Mawruss.”

Morris colored slightly.

“Why should we give it Blaustein all our business, Abe?” he said.  “That feller must got it a thousand customers to Rudy Feinholz’s one.”

“Whose one?” Abe asked.

“Rudy Feinholz’s,” said Morris.  “I thought I told it you that Louis Feinholz’s nephew got an insurance business on Lenox Avenue, and I promised Louis I would give the young feller a show.”

“You promised you would give him a show, Mawruss?” Abe repeated.  “You promised Louis you would give that kid nephew of his what used to run Louis’ books a show?”

“That’s what I said, Abe,” Morris answered.

“Well, all I can say, Mawruss,” Abe declared as he put on his hat, “is that I wouldn’t insure it a pinch of snuff by that feller, Mawruss.  So if you take out any policies from him you can pay for ’em yourself, Mawruss, because I won’t.”

He favored Morris with a final glare and banged the door behind him.

Two hours later when Abe reentered the show-room his face was flushed with triumph and he smoked one of J. Blaustein’s imported cigars.

“You see, Mawruss,” he said, flourishing a folded policy, “when you deal with fellers like Blaustein it goes quick.  I got it here a ten-thousand-dollar insurance by a first-class, A Number One company.”

Morris seized the policy and spread it out on the table.  For ten minutes he examined it closely and then handed it back in silence.

“Well, Mawruss,” Abe inquired anxiously, “ain’t that policy all right?”

Morris shook his head.

“In the first place, Abe,” he said, “why should we insure it a loft on Nineteenth Street, New York, in the Manchester, Sheffield and Lincolnshire Insurance Company, of Manchester, England?  Are we English or are we American, Abe?”

This was a poser, and Abe remained silent.

“And then again, Abe,” Morris went on, “supposing we should—­maybe, I am only saying—­have a fire, Abe, then we must got to go all the way to Manchester, England, already to collect our money.  Ain’t it?”

Abe stared at his feet and made no reply, while Morris again examined the folded policy.

“Just listen here to these here names of the people what run the company, Abe,” he said.  “Chairman, the rutt honn Earl of Warrington.”

Abe looked up suddenly.

“What kind of Chinese talk is that, Mawruss?” he said.  “Rutt honn?”

“That’s no Chinese talk, Abe,” Morris replied.  “That’s printed right here on the policy.  That rutt honn Earl of Warrington is president of the board of directors, Abe; and supposing we should maybe for example have a fire, Abe, what show would we stand it with this here rutt honn Earl of Warrington?”