"Go on," he roared, "out from my house." Morris rose leisurely to his feet and pulled a large cigar from his pocket. "If that's the way you feel about it, Mr. Kronberg," he said gently, "_schon gut_. I wouldn't bother you any more. At the same time, Mr. Kronberg, if ever you should want to sell the house, y'understand, let me know; that's all." As he passed out of the door he laid the cigar on a side table and its bright red band immediately caught the eye of Uncle Mosha. He pounced on it and was about to hurl it after his departing visitor when something about the smoothness of the wrapper made him pause. Five minutes later he lolled back in a horsehair-covered rocker and puffed contentedly at Morris's cigar. "After all," he said, "I might get a good price for the house anyway." From Mosha Kronberg's tenement house on Madison Street to the cloak and suit district, at Nineteenth Street and Fifth Avenue, is less than two miles as the crow flies, but Morris Perlmutter's journey uptown was accomplished in less direct fashion. He spent over half an hour in an antiquated horse car and by the time the Broadway car to which he transferred had reached Madison Square it was nearly twelve o'clock. As he walked down Nineteenth Street he almost collided with Abe, whose face wore a frown. "Say, lookyhere, Mawruss!" he cried. "What kind of business is this? Here you are just getting downtown and I am going out to lunch already." "Sure, I know," Morris retorted. "You think of nothing but your stomach. Believe me, Abe, I worked hard enough this morning." "Worked nothing!" Abe rejoined. "You have been up to some monkey business, Mawruss; otherwise why should Mosha Kronberg telephone us just now he thought the matter over since you left there and he would be up to see you this afternoon already." "What!" Morris cried. "Did Mosha Kronberg telephone that himself?" "All right, Mawruss; then I am a liar!" Abe exploded. "I am telling you with my own ears I heard him." "I believe you, Abe," Morris said soothingly. "Don't hurry back from your lunch. I got lots of time." "I would hurry back _oder_ not, as I please, Mawruss," Abe retorted as he trudged off toward Hammersmith's restaurant. There he ministered to his outraged feelings with a steaming dish of _gefuellte rinderbrust_, and it was not till he had sopped up the last drop of gravy with a piece of rye bread that he became conscious of a stranger sitting opposite to him. "Excuse me," said the latter, "you got a little soup on the lapel of your coat." "That ain't soup," Abe explained, as he dipped his napkin in his glass of ice-water and started to remove the stain; "that's a little _gefuellte rinderbrust_, which they fix it so thin and watery nowadays it might just as well be soup the way it's always getting over your clothes."