p-to-date woman."

* * * * *

Two days later, Abe Potash spotted the name of Marcus Bramson in the
"Arrival of Buyers" column of a morning newspaper.

"Mawruss," he cried, "he's come!"

"Who's come?" Morris asked.

"Marcus Bramson," Abe replied, reaching for his hat. "I'm going over to
the Bingler House now to meet him. You wait here till I come back. I bet
you we sell him a big bill of goods!"

As Abe went out of the store by the front door, an expressman, bearing a
square wooden box, entered the rear alley. He brought the package
straight to Miss Cohen, who signed a receipt, and summoned Mr.
Perlmutter. Morris proceeded to pry off the cover.

"This is something what Mrs. Perlmutter bought for Hyman Maimin's
wedding present," he explained. "I ain't never seen it yet."

He pulled out a number of wads of tissue paper. When he finally reached
a piece of silverware, he turned the box upside down and shook out the
remainder of its contents upon a sample table.

"Oh, Mr. Perlmutter," Mist Cohen exclaimed, clasping her hands, "what a
beautiful bonbon dish! What a lovely wedding present!"

Morris looked at the bonbon dish, and beads of perspiration started on
his forehead.

"Ain't Mrs. Perlmutter got good taste!" Miss Cohen went on
enthusiastically.

Morris said nothing, but picked up the silver dish. Examining the
polished centre carefully, he discerned the indistinct initials "M. P."
almost but not quite effaced by buffing. Undoubtedly it was the same
bonbon dish.

He gathered up the tissue paper and carefully arranged it in the box as
a bed for the silver dish. Then he put the cover on, and nailed it down.

"Ain't you going to let Mr. Potash see it?" Miss Cohen asked. "He ain't
never seen it before, neither, has he?"

Morris frowned.

"I think he has," he replied. "Anyhow, I'm going to send it right uptown
by messenger boy."

"Do you think they'll exchange it?" Miss Cohen inquired.

"Oh, I guess it will be put back in stock all right," said Morris,
turning away.

* * * * *

The next morning, when Morris entered the store, Abe was busy figuring
on the back of a torn envelope.

"Hello, Mawruss!" he cried, looking up. "Ain't it beautiful weather?"

Morris agreed that it was.

"That Mr. Bramson," Abe went on, "that's one fine gentleman, Mawruss. He
ain't what you'd call a close buyer, neither, Mawruss."

"No?" Morris commented.

"The