"Don't say that again, Abe," Morris said. "You Jonah the feller that way. Somebody hears you saying Max is an old man and the first thing you know, Abe, they believe he is old. I told you before Max is only sixty; and when my _grossvater selig_ was sixty he gets married for the third time yet." "Sure I know, Mawruss," Abe retorted. "Some fellers gets married for a wife and some for a nurse, Mawruss. Any cripple could get married, y'understand; but a feller must got to have his health to sell goods." He seized the current issue of the _Daily Cloak and Suit Record_, and as he sat down to examine it he heaved a sigh which merged into an agonized groan. "Oo-ee!" he exclaimed; "that lumbago still gets me in the back." "You see, Abe," Morris commented maliciously, "you ain't so young yourself. From forty-eight to sixty ain't a thousand years neither, Abe." Abe scowled and then his face lightened up in the conception of a happy idea. "I give you right about that, Mawruss," he said: "but with me it's different, Mawruss. If I get so I couldn't go out on the road, y'understand, we could always hire some one to go for us." "Could we?" Morris grumbled. "Sure," Abe went on; "and even to-day yet, while I am making Denver and the coast towns, it wouldn't harm us we should get a feller which is acquainted with the trade up the state and in Pennsylvania and Ohio." "Wouldn't it?" Morris croaked. "We are losing every day business, Mawruss, because I got such a big territory to cover," Abe said. "A feller in a small town wants his fall goods early just so much as one of them big concerns in Denver _oder_ Seattle; and if I don't show up in time they place their orders with some one else. Whereas, Mawruss, if we would wait a couple of weeks, we would say for instance, until he finds out that every one ain't paying fancy salaries like Klinger & Klein, y'understand, for a couple thousand dollars a year, Mawruss, we could get Max Kirschner and----" "Max Kirschner?" Morris yelled. "What d'ye mean, Max Kirschner?" "Yes, Mawruss," Abe said, "we could get Max Kirschner; and, even if he would be a little _kranklich_ oncet in a while, sometimes maybe he would be worth to us two thousand a year anyhow." "Two thousand a year!" Morris bellowed. "What the devil you are talking nonsense, Abe? We should give two thousand a year to a cripple like Kirschner! What do you think you are running here anyhow--a cloak-and-suit business or a home for the aged? If you want to give to charity do it with your money, not mine." For the remainder of the forenoon Morris Perlmutter moved about the showroom with his face distorted in so gloomy a scowl that to Abe it seemed as though a fog enveloped his partner, through which there darted, like flashes of heat lightning, exclamations of "_Schnorrer!_ Cripple! With my money yet!" and "Crust that feller got it!" At length he put on his hat and went out to lunch, while Abe gazed after him in mute disgust.