“But, Abe,” Morris protested, “I ain’t never rode in an oitermobile, and there wouldn’t be no pleasure in it for me, Abe.  Why don’t you go, Abe?  You say it yourself you lead it a dawg’s life on the road.  Now, here’s a chance for you to enjoy yourself, Abe, and you should go.  Besides, Abe, you got commercial travelers’ accident insurance, and I ain’t.”

“The oitermobile ain’t coming till half-past one, Mawruss,” Abe replied; “between now and then you could get it a hundred policies of accident insurance.  No, Mawruss, this here lady-buyer business is up to you.  I got a pointer from Sol Klinger to ring up a concern on Forty-sixth Street, which I done so, and fifteen dollars it costed me.  That oitermobile is coming here for you at half-past one, and after that all you got to do is to go up to the Prince William Hotel and ask for Miss Atkinson.”

“But, Abe,” Morris protested, “I don’t even know this here Miss Isaacson.”

“Not Isaacson,” Abe repeated; “Atkinson.  You’d better write that name down, Mawruss, before you forget it.”

“Never mind, Abe,” Morris rejoined.  “I don’t need to write down things to remember ’em.  I don’t have to call a young feller out of his name just because my memory is bad, Abe.  The name I’ll remember good enough when it comes right down to it.  Only, why should I go out oitermobiling riding with this Miss Atkinson, Abe?  I’m the inside partner, ain’t it?  And you’re the outside man.  Do you know what I think, Abe?  I think you’re scared to ride in an oitermobile.”

“Me scared!” Abe cried.  “Why should I be scared, Mawruss?  A little thing like a broken leg or a broken arm, Mawruss, don’t scare me.  I ain’t going because it ain’t my business to go.  It’s your idee, this lady-buyer business, and if you don’t want to go we’ll charge the fifteen dollars what I paid out to profit and loss and call the whole thing off.”

He rose to his feet, thrust out his waist-line and made a dignified exit by way of closing the discussion.  A moment later, however, he returned with less dignity than haste.

“Mawruss,” he hissed, “that young feller—­that—­that—­now, Ike—­is telephoning.”

“Well,” Morris replied, “one telephone message ain’t going to put us into bankruptcy, Abe.”

“Bankruptcy, nothing!” Abe exclaimed.  “He’s telephoning to his Uncle Max Tuchman.”

Morris jumped to his feet, and on the tips of their toes they darted to the rear of the store.

“All right, Uncle Max,” they heard Ralph Tuchman say.  “I’ll see you to-night.  Good-by.”

Abe and Morris exchanged significant glances, while Ralph slunk guiltily away to Miss Cohen’s desk.

“Let’s fire him on the spot,” Abe said.

Morris shook his head.  “What good will that do, Abe?” Morris replied.  “We ain’t certain that he told Max Tuchman nothing, Abe.  For all you and me know, Max may of rung him up about something quite different already.”