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"Sure," Feinstein replied, and no sooner had Abe disappeared into the hall than he drew a morning paper from his pocket and settled down to his duties as keeper for the Federal receiver by selecting the most comfortable chair in the room and cocking up his feet against the side of Rifkin's desk. "Well, Abe," Morris cried as his partner entered the store half an hour later, "I give you right."
"Then, when you get through them doors, on the left side is the office with mahogany partitions and plated glass, with a hole into it like a bank already." "Sure! The same what I seen it up at Rifkin's, Mawruss," Abe broke in again. Morris drew himself up and scowled at Abe.
"Maybe there's something you would like to buy at the receiver's sale next week." Abe handed Feinstein a cigar, and together they went into Rifkin's loft. "He's got some fine fixtures, ain't it?" Abe said as he gazed upon the mahogany and plate-glass furnishings of Rifkin's office.
"You got a fine place here, Mawruss," he said. "Fixtures and everything A Number One, just like Rifkin's." "Better as Rifkin's," Morris declared. "Well, maybe it is better in quality," Feigenbaum admitted; "but, I mean, in arrangement and color it is just the same. Why, when I come in here with Abe, an hour ago, I assure you I thought I was in Rifkin's old place.
"Better as Rifkin's," Morris exclaimed. "Them doors is covered with goods, Abe, and holes in each door with glass into it." "Sure, I know," Abe replied. "Rifkin's doors got green cashmere onto 'em like a pool table." "Only new, not second-hand," Morris added.
"Maybe it is and maybe it ain't, Abe," Morris rejoined, "but that ain't here nor there. Instead you should be estimating Rifkin's profits, Abe, you should better be going up to Nineteenth Street and see if them people gets through painting and cleaning up. I got it my hands full down here." Abe reached for his hat. "I bet yer you got your hands full, Mawruss," he grumbled.
Ten days afterward the receiver in bankruptcy sold Rifkin's stock and fixtures at auction, and when Abe and Morris took possession of their new business premises on the first of the following month the topic of H. Rifkin's failure had ceased to be of interest to the cloak and suit trade. Morris alone harped upon it.
So impressed was Abe with the magnificence of his surroundings that he forgot to call his floor when he entered one of the elevators, and instead of alighting at the fifth story he was carried up to the sixth floor before the car stopped. Seven or eight men stepped out with him and passed through the door of H. Rifkin's loft, while Abe sought the stairs leading to the floor below.
Well, Mawruss, we leave our store door open, and the customer sees Rifkin's fixtures inside, so he walks in and thinks he's in Rifkin's place. Before he finds out he ain't, Mawruss, we sell him a bill of goods ourselves." Morris stared at Abe in silent contempt.
I only wanted to buy 'em because I thought that they would bring us some of Rifkin's old customers, Mawruss, and I was right." "You're always right, Abe," Morris retorted. "Maybe you was right when you said Feinstein made them marks, Abe, and maybe you wasn't. Feinstein ain't the only one what scratches matches and smokes seegars, Abe. You smoke, too, Abe." "All right, Mawruss," Abe said.
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