up in bulk what it lacked in symmetry that Morris entered.

"What's the matter, Abe?" he cried. "Did you hurted yourself?"

Abe transfixed his partner with a malevolent glare.

"No, Mawruss," he said, as he started for the front of the store, "I
ain't hurted myself at all. I'm just tying this here handkerchief on my
thumb to remind myself what a fool I got it for a partner."

Morris waited till Abe had nearly reached the door.

"I don't got to tie something on my thumb to remind myself of that,
Abe," he said.

* * * * *

Ever since the birth of his son it had seemed to Morris that the Lenox
Avenue express service had grown increasingly slow. Nor did the evening
papers contain half the interesting news of his early married life, and
he could barely wait until the train had stopped at One Hundred and
Sixteenth Street before he was elbowing his way to the platform.

On the Monday night of his partner's mishap he made his accustomed dash
from the subway station to his home on One Hundred and Eighteenth
Street, confident that as soon as his latchkey rattled in the door Mrs.
Perlmutter and the baby would be in the hall to greet him; but on this
occasion he was disappointed. To be sure the appetizing odour of
_gedampftes kalbfleisch_ wafted itself down the elevator shaft as he
entered the gilt and plaster-porphyry entrance from the street, but when