g through, Abe, not only we are doing a _Mitzvah_ for all concerned,
Abe, but we are making a customer for life."

"You mean, Mawruss," Abe said slowly, "you would try to make up a match
between B. Gurin and Mrs. Gladstein?"

"Sure, why not?" Morris said. "It stands in the _Gemara_, Abe, we are
commanded to promote marriages, visit the sick and bury the dead."

Once more Abe nodded, and this time he managed to impart the quality of
irony to the gesture.

"Burying the dead is all right, Mawruss," he said. "From a dead man you
don't get no comebacks, and his relations is anyhow grateful; _aber_ if
you would make up a match between a couple of people like Mrs. Gladstein
and B. Gurin, what is it? Even if the marriage would be a success,
Mawruss, then the couple claims they was just suited to each other,
Mawruss, and we don't get no credit for it anyway. On the other hand,
Mawruss, if they don't agree together, they wouldn't hate each other
near so much as they'd hate us."

"Why should they hate us?" Morris asked. "Our intentions is anyhow
good."

"Sure, I know, Mawruss," Abe retorted. "From having good intentions
already, many a decent, respectable feller goes broke."

Morris flapped the air impatiently with his right hand.

"Anybody could sit down and talk proverbs, Abe," he said.

"I guess I could talk proverbs in my own store, Mawruss, if I want to,"
Abe rejoined with dignity.

"Sure you could," Morris replied, "but one thing you got to remember,
Abe. While the back-number is saying look out before you jump, the
up-to-date feller has jumped already, and lands on a
five-thousand-dollar order _mit_ both feet already."

* * * * *

"I'll tell you, Mr. Perlmutter, it's like this," B. Gurin explained, as
he sat in his Mount Vernon store that evening; "money don't figure at
all with me."

"Where is the harm supposing she does got a little money, Gurin?" Morris
protested. "And, anyhow, never mind the money, Gurin. We will say for
the sake of example she ain't got no money. Does it do any harm to look
at the woman?"

B. Gurin passed his hand through his wavy brown hair, cut semi-pompadour
in the latest fashion. There was no denying B. Gurin's claims to beauty.

"What is the use talking, Mr. Perlmutter?" he said, carefully examining
his finger-nails. "I am sick and tired of looking at 'em. Believe me I
ain't lying to you, if I looked at one I must of looked at hundreds. The
fathers