Part 52 (1/2)
”Why, what did he done to B. Senft?” Morris asked.
”Nothing at all, Mawruss. Senft is crazy. He gets a prejudice against the feller all of a sudden on account he's an Italiener.”
”Italiener!” Morris cried.
”Sure,” Harry replied. ”Did you ever hear the like, Mawruss, that a man like Senft, which his folks _oser_ come over in the Mayflower neither, y'understand, should kick on account a feller is an Italiener? And mind you, Mawruss, the feller is otherwise perfectly decent, respectable feller by the name Enrico Simonetti.”
Morris nodded.
”With a name like that he must got to be a good designer,” he commented, ”otherwise Sammet Brothers wouldn't hire him at all. It would take a whole lot more gumption than Leon Sammet got it to call such a feller from the cutting room even.”
”That's all right, Mawruss. You don't have to call such a feller from the cutting room. He could run a cutting room as well as design garments; and in fact, Mawruss, when Sammet Brothers pay that feller two thousand a year, y'understand, they are practically getting him for nothing.”
”Two thousand a year!” Morris exclaimed. ”Why, we ourselves would pay him twenty-five hundred.”
”The feller's worth four thousand if he's worth a cent, Mawruss, but the way business is so rotten nowadays he was willing to take two thousand.
_Aber_ my father-in-law, Mr. Finkman, told me on the 'phone, the roar this feller puts up when Leon Sammet offers him eighteen hundred, Leon was pretty near afraid for his life already.”
”I don't blame him,” Morris commented. ”Such highwaymen like Sammet Brothers they would beat a feller's price down to nothing. We ain't that way with our help, Harry. If we would got a good man working by us we----”
”Morris!” cried a voice from the kitchen.
”Yes,” Morris replied, jumping to his feet. In less than two minutes he reappeared and approached Harry with an apologetic smile. ”Would you excuse me a couple minutes, Harry?” he asked. ”I got to run over to the grocer for a box of soap powder. Our girl threw up her job on us.”
”I'll go with you,” Harry replied. ”I need to get a little air.”
A minute later they walked down the street to Lenox Avenue, and as they approached the corner Harry nodded to a short, dark personage who was proceeding slowly down the street.
”Al-lo!” he cried, seizing Harry by the arm, ”adjer do?”
”Fine, thanks,” Harry said. ”Let me introduce you to a friend of mine by the name Mr. Perlmutter. This is Mr. Simonetti, Mawruss, which I am talking to you about.”
Morris shook hands limply.
”You don't tell me,” he said. ”You know me, Mr. Simmons? My partner is Mr. Potash. I guess you hear B. Senft speak about us.”
”Sure,” Simonetti said. ”Mister Senft ees always say: 'Mister Potash and Perlmutter ees nice-a people.' Sure.”
”Better than Sammet Brothers?” Harry asked.
Simonetti raised his eyebrows and made a flapping gesture with his right hand.
”A-oh!” he said. ”Sammet Brothers, that's all right too. Not too much-a all right, Mr. Baskof, but is preety good people. I am just-a now go to see ees-a lawyer for sign-a da contract.”
”Ain't you signed the contract yet?” Morris cried.
”Not-a yet,” Simonetti answered. ”Just-a now I am going.”
”Baskof,” Morris urged, ”supposing you and me goes together with Mr.
Simonetti to the Harlem Winter Garden and talks the thing over.”