Good Books

Ravenslee, lounging in
the background, was forgotten quite, the while they chaffered after this
manner:
Salesman. "Here vos a shirt as can't be beat for der
money--neglegee boosom an' turnover cuffs, warranted shrunk, and all for
vun dollar."
Spike. "Come off, Aaron, come off! Fifty cents is th' bid!"
Salesman. "Fifty cents? Vy, on Broadvay dey'd sharge you--"
Spike. "Wake up, Ike! This ain't Broadway! And fifty's the
limit!"
Salesman. "But shust look at dem pink shtripes--so vide as an
inch! Dere's fifty cents' vorth of dye in dem shtripes, an' I'll give it
you for seventy-five cents! On Broadvay--"
Spike. "We're gettin' there, Ikey, we're gettin' there; keep
on, fifty's the call!"
Salesman. "Fifty cents! Oi! Oi! I vould be ruined! A neglegee
boosom and turnover cuffs! Vell, vell--I'll wrap it up, so--an' I make
you a present of it for--sixty! An' on Broadvay--"
Spike. "Come on, Geoff, Aaron's talking in his sleep! Come on,
we'll go on to Mendelbaum's; see--we want shirts, an' ties, an' socks,
an' collars, an'--"
Salesman.


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