Morris
Perlmutter.

"Sure, I know," Morris said, "but did the coal-dealers see it, because I
met Felix Geigermann on the Subway this morning, and from the way he
talked about what the coal-dealers was asking for coal up in Sand
Plains, where he lives, Abe, I gathered it was somewheres around twenty
dollars a caret unset."

"_Gott sei dank_ I am living in an apartment mit steam heat and my lease
has still got two years to run at the same rent," Abe said.

"Well, I hope it's written on good thick paper, and then it'll come in
handy to wear under your overcoat when you sit home evenings next
winter, Abe, because by the first of next February janitors will be
giving coal to the furnace like it would be asperin--from five to ten
grains every three hours," Morris predicted, "which I will admit that I
ain't a good enough judge of anthracite coal to tell whether it's
fireproof, of slow-burning construction, or just the ordinary sprinkled
risk, y'understand, but I do know coal-dealers, Abe, and if the
government says they must got to sell coal at seven dollars a ton,
y'understand, it'll be like buying one of them high-grade automobiles
where the list price includes only the engine and the two front wheels,
F.O.B. Detroit. In other words, Abe, if you would buy coal to-day at
seven dollars a ton you would get a bill something like this:

To coal $7.00
To loading coal 1.00
To unloading coal 1.00
To weighing coal 1.00
To delivering coal 1.00
To dusting off coal 1.00

and you would be playing in luck if you didn't get charged a dollar each
for tasting coal, smelling coal, feeling coal, and doing anything else
to coal that a coal-dealer would have the nerve to charge one dollar
for."

"Well, if I would be the United States government," Abe commented, "and
had got a practical coal-man like this here Garfield to set a limit of
seven dollars I wouldn't let them robbers pull no last rounds of
rang-doodles on me, Mawruss. I'd take away their chips from 'em and put
'em right out of the game."

"Sure I know, Abe," Morris said, "_aber_ this here Garfield ain't a
practical coal-man, Abe, and maybe that's the trouble. Mr. Garfield is
president of Williams College, so you couldn't blame these here
coal-dealers, because you know as well as I do, Abe, the garment trade
will certainly put up an awful holler if when it comes to appoint a
cloak-and-suit administrator Mr. Wilson is going to wish