Rudy Feinholz's insurance business occupied what had once been the front parlor of a high-stoop brown-stone residence. Similarly the basement dining-room had been converted into a delicatessen store, and the smoked meats, pickles, cheese and spices with which it was stocked provided rather a strange atmosphere for the Metropolitan Agency of the Farmers and Ranchers' Insurance Company. Moreover, the Italian barber who rented the quondam back parlor was given to practicing on the mandolin; and when Abe, Morris and J. Blaustein entered the Metropolitan Agency a very imperfect rendition of Santa Lucia came through the partition and made conversation difficult for the Metropolitan agent. "What d'ye say if we all go round to the Longchamps," he said, "and talk things over." "I'm agreeable," Morris said, looking at his partner. "Sure thing," Blaustein replied. "That delicatessen store smell is so thick around here that I'm getting ptomaine poisoning." "But," Abe protested, "maybe Louis Feinholz don't want us round there. We ain't on the best of terms with Louis." "That's all right," Rudy Feinholz said. "I arranged with him to bring you round there. Uncle Louis is a heavy stockholder in the Farmers and Ranchers', and----" "S'enough!" Morris cried. "I hear enough about the family history of this here Farmers and Ranchers. It wouldn't make no difference to me if your mother was the vice-president and your sister the secretary. All I want is we should settle this thing up." "Well, come along, then," Rudy cried, and the two brokers and their clients repaired to Feinholz's store. Abe and Morris entered not without trepidation, but Louis received them with unaffected amiability. "Well, Mawruss," he said, "that's too bad you got a fire in your place." "We can stand it," Morris replied. "We was insured." Feinholz rejoined: "Yes, you was insured by your loft, but you wasn't insured by your freight elevator." "But by the rules of the Fire Insurance Exchange," Blaustein interrupted, "when a policy reads----" "What do we care about the Fire Insurance Exchange?" Feinholz broke in. "The Farmers and Ranchers' ain't members of the Fire Insurance Exchange. We got a license to do business from the Superintendent of Insurance, and we don't give a cent for the Fire Insurance Exchange. We insured it the loft, and the goods was burnt in the freight elevator." Abe jumped to his feet. "Do you mean," he cried, "that you ain't going to pay us nothing for our fire?" "That's what I mean," Feinholz declared. Morris turned to Abe. "Come, Abe," he said, "we'll take Feder's advice." "Feder's advice?" Feinholz repeated. "You mean that feller what I seen it in your store this morning?" "That's what I mean," Morris replied. "Feder says to us we should take it his lawyers, McMaster, Peddle & Crane, and he would see to it that they wouldn't charge us much." Feinholz smiled.