ready, and he couldn't tell in June what is going
to please the garment buyers in September."

Morris flushed angrily.

"I don't know what comes over you lately, Abe; nothing suits you," he
cried. "I got here a garment which if we would be paying a designer ten
thousand dollars a year yet he couldn't turn us out nothing better, and
yet you are kicking."

"What d'ye mean, kicking?" Abe rejoined. "I ain't kicking. I am only
passing a remark, Mawruss. I am saying I couldn't tell nothing about it,
Mawruss, because so far ahead of time like this, Mawruss, a garment
could look ever so rotten, Mawruss, and it could turn out to be a
record-seller anyhow."

"So, Abe," Morris broke out furiously, "you think the garment looks
rotten! What? Well, all I got to say is this, Abe; if the garment looks
so rotten you should quick hire some one which could design a better
one, because I am sick and tired of your kicking."

"What's the matter, you got pepper up your nose all of a sudden,
Mawruss?" Abe protested. "I ain't saying nothing about the garment is
rotten. I am only saying it gets so nowadays that in June a feller
turns out a style which if we was making masquerade costumes already it
would be freaky anyhow; and yet, Mawruss, it would go big in September.
You get the idee what I am talking about, Mawruss?"

"I get the idee all right," Morris retorted with bitter emphasis. "You
got the nerve to stand there and tell me this here garment is freaky
like a masquerade costume. _Schon gut_, Abe. From now on I wash myself
of the whole thing. I am through, Abe. You should right away advertise
for a designer."

Abe rose wearily to his feet.

"With a touchy proposition like you, Mawruss," he said, "a feller
couldn't open his mouth at all. I ain't saying nothing about you as a
designer, Mawruss. All I am saying, Mawruss, is, a designer could be a
feller which he is so high-grade like Paquin or any of them Frenchers,
but if he gets his idees from fashion papers _oder_ the _Daily Cloak and
Suit Gazette_, Mawruss, then oncet in a while he turns out a sticker."

Morris was stripping the garment from the display form, but he paused to
favour his partner with a glare.

"What would you want me to do, then?" he asked. "Make up styles out from
my own head, Abe? If I wouldn't get my idees from the fashion papers,
Abe, where would I get 'em?"

"Where would you get 'em?" Abe repeated. "Why, where does Hymie Salzman,
designer for Sammet Broth