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Updated: May 5, 2025
He put on his hat and left without another word, while Abe and Morris looked at each other in blank amazement. "That's a real-estater for you," Abe said. "Henochstein's got it pretty good nerve, Mawruss, but this feller acts so independent like a doctor or a lawyer." Morris nodded and started to hang up his hat and coat, but even as his hand was poised half-way to the hook it became paralyzed.
"Abe," he said, "this here Henochstein is a friend of yours; ain't it?" Abe nodded sulkily. "Well, take him out of here," Morris advised, "before I kick him out." He banged the show-room door behind him and repaired to Wasserbauer's Café and Restaurant across the street to await Henochstein's departure. "Mawruss is right," Abe declared.
Michaelson, I can't make no living by loafing around street corners and buildings, Mr. Michaelson." "Don't mention it," said Mr. Michaelson as Morris started up the last flight. When he entered the Equinox Clothing Company's office the clang of the bell drowned out the last words of Marks Henochstein's sentence. Mr.
All the contestants in a chess tournament could have played on his clothes at one time, and the ox-blood stripes on his shirt exactly matched the color of his necktie and socks. He had concluded his interview with Morris on the morning following Henochstein's fiasco, before Abe's arrival at the office, and he was just leaving as Abe came in. "Who's that, Mawruss?"
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