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Updated: June 14, 2025
If anybody wants to sell goods to lady buyers they got to be up-to-date, ain't it? And so far what I hear it nobody told it me you made such a big success with lady buyers, neither, Abe." Abe shrugged his shoulders. "That ain't here nor there, Mawruss," he grunted. "The thing is this: if this young feller by the name of Tuchman does Miss Cohen's work as good as Miss Cohen does it I'm satisfied."
"That's a fine piece of work," he said, "that Max Tuchman is." Ralph nodded. "Sure he is," he replied. "Uncle Max is an up-to-date feller." "The trouble is with us, Mawruss," Abe Potash declared one afternoon in September, "that we ain't in an up-to-date neighborhood. We should get it a loft in one of them buildings up in Seventeenth, Eighteenth or Nineteenth Street, Mawruss.
"Sure not, Mawruss, I'm lucky if I get to a funeral oncet in a while. Ike," he broke off suddenly, "you better get them statements mailed." Ralph Tuchman rose sadly and repaired to the office. "That's a smart young feller, Mawruss," Abe commented, "and while you can't tell much about a feller from his face, Mawruss, I never seen them long ears on anyone that minded his own business, y'understand?
The mounted policeman jumped nimbly from his horse, and as Morris rose in the tonneau of his automobile he saw Max Tuchman being jerked bodily to the street, while his fair companion shrieked hysterically. Morris opened the door and sprang out. With unusual energy he wormed his way through the crowd that surrounded the policeman and approached the side of the automobile.
Potash accuses me something terrible." "Accuse you?" Morris said. "What does he accuse you for?" "He accuse me that I ring up my Uncle Max Tuchman and tell him about a Miss Atkinson at the Prince William Hotel," Ralph continued. "I didn't do it, Mr. Perlmutter; believe me. Uncle Max rung me up, and I was going to tell you and Mr.
Any port in a storm, she argued to herself, and a moment later she was seated beside Morris in the latter's car, which was moving up the Avenue at a good twenty-mile gait. The chauffeur took advantage of the traffic policeman's professional engagement with Max Tuchman, and it was not until the next mounted officer hove into view that he brought his car down to its lawful gait.
And besides, I ain't taking no chances on his Uncle Max Tuchman getting advance information about this here Moe Gerschel's buyer." Morris nodded. "Maybe you're right, Abe," he murmured. "You was telling me what this Miss Abrahamson said, Abe." "Miss Atkinson, Mawruss," Abe corrected, "not Abrahamson." "Well, what did she say?" Morris asked.
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