“So it is, Abe,” Morris admitted.  “The air is great out there, Abe, but at the same time, Abe, the air ain’t so rotten on a Hundred and Eighteenth Street neither, y’understand, and the train service is a whole lot better.”

“You’re right, Mawruss,” Abe said, “and with all these oitermobile rides and things you waste too much time already.  A feller should always consider business ahead of pleasure.”

Morris looked at his bruised and oil stained hands.

“Oitermobile riding!” he cried.  “That’s a pleasure, Abe.  Believe me I’d as lief work in a rolling mill.”

CHAPTER XVI

Morris Perlmutter’s front parlor represented an eclectic taste, and the fine arts had been liberally patronized in its decoration.  On the wall hung various subjects in oil, including still life, landscapes, marine scenes and figures, all of which had been billed to Morris by a Fourteenth Street dealer as: 

    8/12 dozen assorted oil paintings @ $96 $64
    8/12 dozen shadow boxes for paintings @ 12 8
                                                  ___
          
                                        $72

But it was not at the oil paintings that B. Rashkin gazed.  His eyes sought instead the framed and glazed certificate of membership of Morris Perlmutter in Harmony Lodge 41, Independent Order Mattai Aaron.

“Them very people hold the mortgage, Mr. Perlmutter,” Rashkin said, “and with the influence what you got it in the order, why——­”

“Lookyhere, Rashkin,” Perlmutter interrupted, “you’re a real estater, and if you don’t get up at eight o’clock then you get up at nine, and it’s all the same; but me, I am in the cloak business, and I got to get downtown at seven o’clock, and so I’m going to tell you again what I told it you before.  Go and see Abe to-morrow, and put this proposition up to him like it was something you never told me nothing about, y’understand?  Then if he makes the suggestion to me, Rashkin, I would say all right.  Because if it should be me what would make the suggestion to him, y’understand, he wouldn’t have nothing to do with it.  And even if he should consent to go into it, and if we lost money on the deal, Rashkin, I wouldn’t never hear the end of it.”

Rashkin nodded and seized his hat.

“All right,” he said, “I will do what you say, Mr. Perlmutter.  But with them three lots it’s like this:  they’re owned by——­”

Morris yawned with a noise like a performing sea lion.

“Tell it to Potash to-morrow, Rashkin,” he said, and led the way to the hall door.

Accordingly the next morning Rashkin entered the salesroom of Potash & Perlmutter, where Abe was scanning the “Arrival of Buyers” column in the Daily Cloak and Suit Record.

“Good morning, Mr. Potash,” B. Rashkin said.  “Ain’t it a fine weather?”

“Oh, good morning,” Abe cried.