one lady goes back on you, understand me, is that a reason you
wouldn't got no use for no ladies at all? You might just as well say,
Gurin, because one customer busts up on you, y'understand, you would
never try to sell another customer so long as you live. Now this here
Mrs. Gladstein, Gurin, is a lady which while I never seen this here lady
_im_ Russland, y'understand, if you will just come out to Bridgetown
with me, Gurin, I give you a guaranty Russland wouldn't figure at all."

Gurin shook his head sadly.

"You don't know me, Mr. Perlmutter," he said. "While I am going with
plenty _Schatchens_ to see young ladies already, Mr. Perlmutter, I
assure you my heart ain't in it. People gets the impression because I am
a swell dresser, Mr. Perlmutter, that I am looking to get married; but
believe me, Mr. Perlmutter, it ain't so."

"Then what do you go for, Gurin?" Morris asked. "_Schatchens_ don't like
to fool away their time no more as I do, Gurin; and you could take it
from me, no girl is going to the trouble to fix herself up and make a
nice supper for you and the _Schatchen_ simply for the pleasure of
seeing a swell dresser, Gurin."

"That's just the point, Mr. Perlmutter," Gurin said. "A feller which
runs a store like this one and eats his meals in restaurants, understand
me, must got to get a little home cooking once in a while. Ain't it?"

"Why not get married and be done with it?" Morris retorted; "and then
you could get home cooking all the time."

Once more Gurin shook his head.

"Without love, Mr. Perlmutter, marriage is nix," he said.

"_Schmooes!_" Morris exclaimed. "Do you think when I got married I loved
my wife, Gurin? _Oser_ a _stueck_. And to-day yet I am crazy about her.
With a business man, Gurin, love comes after marriage."

B. Gurin rose wearily to his feet and shot his cuffs by way of showing
impatience.

"What is the use talking, Mr. Perlmutter?" he protested. "When I want to
get married I would get married--otherwise not."

He flecked away an imaginary grain of dust from the lapel of his coat
and walked slowly toward the door.

"Are you going home on the New Haven road _oder_ the Harlem road?" he
asked.

Morris scowled, and his indignation lent such force to the gesture with
which he put on his hat that the impact sounded like a blow on a
tambourine.

"_Schon gut_, Gurin," he said. "I am through with you."

He paused at the doorway and lit a cigar.

"And one thing I could tell yo