Part 37 (1/2)
Abe looked at Morris, who stood grinning broadly in the show-room doorway.
”Give me an introduction once, Abe,” Morris said.
”He don't have to give us no introduction,” the elder female exclaimed.
”Me, I am Mrs. Sarah Mashkowitz, and this here lady is my sister, Mrs.
Blooma Sheikman, _geborn_ Smolinski.”
”That ain't my fault that you got them names,” Abe said. ”I see it now that you're my wife's father's brother's daughter, ain't it? So if you're going to make a touch, make it. I got business to attend to.”
”We ain't going to make no touch, Potash,” Mrs. Mashkowitz declared. ”We would rather die first.”
”All right,” Abe replied heartlessly. ”Die if you got to. You can't make me mad.”
Mrs. Mashkowitz ignored Abe's repartee.
”We don't ask nothing for ourselves, Potash,” she said, ”but we got it a sister, your wife's own cousin, Miriam Smolinski. She wants to get married.”
”I'm agreeable,” Abe murmured, ”and I'm sure my Rosie ain't got no objections neither.”
Mrs. Sheikman favored him with a look of contempt.
”What chance has a poor girl got it to get married?” she asked.
”When she ain't got a dollar in the world,” Mrs. Mashkowitz added. ”And her own relatives from her own blood is millionaires already.”
”If you mean me,” Abe replied, ”I ain't no millionaire, I can a.s.sure you. Far from it.”
”Plenty of money you got it, Potash,” Mrs. Mashkowitz said. ”Five hundred dollars to you is to me like ten cents.”
”He don't think no more of five hundred dollars than you do of your life, lady,” Morris broke in with a raucous laugh.
”Do me the favor, Mawruss,” Abe cried, ”and tend to your own business.”
”Sure,” Morris replied, as he turned to go. ”I thought I was helping you out, Abe, that's all.”
He repaired to the rear of the store, while Abe piloted his two visitors into the show-room.
”Now what is it you want from me?” he asked.
”Not a penny she got it,” Mrs. Mashkowitz declared, breaking into tears.
”And she got a fine young feller what is willing to marry her and wants it only five hundred dollars.”
”Only five hundred dollars,” Mrs. Sheikman moaned. ”Only five hundred dollars. _Ai vai!_”
”Five hundred dollars!” Abe exclaimed. ”If you think you should cry till you get five hundred dollars out of me, you got a long wet spell ahead of you. That's all I got to say.”
”Might he would take two hundred and fifty dollars, maybe,” Mrs.
Sheikman suggested hopefully through her tears.