“Syndicate?” Abe murmured.  “Professional tenants?”

“Sure,” the tenant replied.  “Dere was four to de syndicate.  Magnus was one.  Sumpin about a hen was de other, and den dere was dis here Rabin and a guy called Michaelson.”

“And what is this about professional tenants?” Morris croaked.

“Oh, dere was twenty-four families in de house, includin’ de housekeeper,” the tenant replied.  “Eighteen of ’em was professionals, and when de syndicate sold youse de house de professionals moved up to a house on Fourt’ Street what de syndicate owns.”

Abe pulled his hat over his eyes and thrust his hands into his trousers’ pockets.

“S’enough, lady,” he said; “I heard enough already.”

He turned to Morris.

“Yes, Mawruss,” he said bitterly.  “You’re right.  There ain’t no seasons in real estate nor in suckers neither, Mawruss.  You can catch ’em every day in the year, Mawruss.  I’m going home, but if you need an express wagon to carry away them rents, Mawruss, there’s a livery stable around the corner.”

It was at least a week before Abe could bring himself to address his partner, save in the gruffest monosyllables; but an unusual rush of spring customers brought about a reconciliation, and Abe and Morris forgot their real-estate venture in the reception of out-of-town trade.  In the conduct of their business Morris devoted himself to manufacturing and shipping the goods, while Abe attended to the selling end.  Twice a year Abe made a long trip to the West or South, with shorter trips down East between times, and he never tired of reminding his partner how overworked he, Abe, was.

“I got my hands full, Mawruss,” he said, after he had greeted half a dozen Western customers; “I got enough to do here, Mawruss, without running around the country.  We ought to do what other houses does, Mawruss.  We ought to get a good salesman.  We got three thousand dollars to throw away on real estate, Mawruss; why don’t we make an investment like Sammet Brothers made it?  Why don’t we invest in a crackerjack, A-number-one salesman?”

“I ain’t stopping you, Abe,” Morris replied.  “Why don’t we?  Klinger & Klein has a good boy, Alec Goldwasser.  He done a big trade for ’em, Abe, and they don’t pay him much, neither.”

“Alec Goldwasser!” Abe cried.  “I’m surprised to hear you, Mawruss, you should talk that way.  We paid Alec Goldwasser enough already, Mawruss.  We paid him that two thousand dollars what he got with Miriam Rabin.”

Morris looked guilty.

“Ain’t I told you yet, Abe?” he said.  “I thought I told you.”

“You ain’t told me nothing,” said Abe.

“Why, Alec Goldwasser and Miriam Rabin ain’t engaged no longer.  The way my Minnie tells me, Rabin says he don’t want his daughter should marry a man without a business of his own, so the match is off.”

“Well, Mawruss,” Abe commented, “you can’t make me feel bad by telling me that.  But anyhow, I don’t see no medals on Alec Goldwasser as a salesman, neither.  He ain’t such a salesman what we want it, Mawruss.”