"I'm all through, Minnie," Morris said. "Wait--I'll show you how I could
help you wash the dishes."

As he started for the kitchen with one butterplate in his hand the
doorbell rang, whereupon he returned the butterplate to the dining-room
table and hastened down the hall.

"Hallo, Mawruss," cried Harry Baskof as Morris opened the door. "I rung
up the old man and he says he got the feller a job with Sammet
Brothers."

"Come inside," Morris answered, and led the way to the parlour. He
motioned his visitor to a seat and produced a box of cigars.

"Do you mean to say the feller got a job as quick as all that?" he
continued.

"He sure did, Mawruss," Harry replied. "He's an elegant designer,
Mawruss, and if B. Senft knew his business he never would got rid of him
at all."

"Why, what did he done to B. Senft?" Morris asked.

"Nothing at all, Mawruss. Senft is crazy. He gets a prejudice against
the feller all of a sudden on account he's an Italiener."

"Italiener!" Morris cried.

"Sure," Harry replied. "Did you ever hear the like, Mawruss, that a man
like Senft, which his folks _oser_ come over in the Mayflower neither,