cash."

* * * * *

"You see, Abe," Morris cried as he came in from lunch, "how easy it is
to misjudge people. I just seen Sol Klinger over to Hammersmith's and he
tells me that in six weeks yet Max Kirschner falls down on three orders.
Four thousand dollars that sucker, Leon Sammet, cops out on 'em; and Sol
couldn't help himself, Abe. Either they got to fire Max _oder_ they got
to go out of business."

Abe nodded slowly. His face possessed an unusual pallor and he clenched
an unlighted cigar between his teeth.

"What is it?" Morris asked. "Don't you feel good?"

"I am feeling fine, Mawruss," he replied huskily. "I could blow myself
to a bottle tchampanyer wine yet, I feel so good. I am enjoying myself,
Mawruss, on account Moe Griesman from Sarahcuse was just in here, which
he tells me his nephew, Mozart Rabiner, goes to work for Klinger & Klein
as a drummer and we should be so good and cancel the order which he
gives us yesterday, as blood is redder as water; and what the devil
could we do about it anyway?"

Morris's jaw dropped and he sat down heavily in the nearest chair.

"One thing I'm glad, Mawruss," Abe said as he put on his hat: "I'm glad,
if we got to lose Moe Griesman's trade, Mawruss, that he is going to
give it to a feller like Sol Klinger, which he is such a good friend to
you, Mawruss, and got such a big heart."

He jammed his hat on his ears and started out.

"Where are you going, Abe?" Morris asked.

"I'm going over to Hammersmith's, Mawruss," he replied, "to get a bite
to eat; and I hope to see Sol Klinger there, Mawruss, as I would like to
congratulate him, Mawruss, with a pressing-iron."

Morris's face settled once more into a deep frown as the elevator door
closed behind his partner.

"Always with his mouth he is making somebody a blue eye," he muttered as
he turned to sorting over the sample line against Abe's impending trip
to the small towns up the state. He had picked out four cheap, showy
garments when the elevator door clanged again and a visitor entered,
bearing a brown-paper parcel.

"Well, Mawruss," he said, "what's the good word?"

The newcomer's cheery greeting was strangely at variance with his
manner, which was as diffident as that of a village dog on the Fourth of
July. As he advanced toward the showroom he exhaled the odour of
mothballs, characteristic of an old stock of cloaks and suits, so that
before he looked up Morris was able to iden