got
to admit my Esther is a good _cook_, y'understand, Mrs. Brody--that's
a _good_ cook, Sam. We had some _fleisch kugel_ there, Sam, I could
assure you, better as Delmonico's--the Waldorf, too."

Sam nodded.

"If she is as good a bookkeeper as Fannie is a cook, Max," he replied,
"I am satisfied. Sol Klinger says that she is A Number One. Always
prompt to the minute and a hard worker."

"Well, why did he fire her, Sam?" Max asked.

"He didn't fire her. She got a sister living in Bridgetown married to
Harris Schevrien, and Miss Meyerson goes up there last spring right in
the busy time. Of course Klinger & Klein has got to let her go because
under the circumstances, Max, she is the only sister Mrs. Schevrien
got, y'understand. Then when the baby is two weeks old it gets sick,
y'understand, and Miss Meyerson writes 'em not to expect her back
before August. Naturally they got to fill her place, but Sol Klinger
tells me she is a dandy, Max, and we should be lucky we got her."

"Well, certainly she don't seem to be loafing none," Max commented,
with a glance toward the office where Miss Meyerson was making out the
monthly statements. "So far what I could see she is working twicet as
fast as Louis Sen, and we ain't paying her only fifteen dollars."

"Sure, I know," Sam said, "but you got to consider it we would also got
to pay Fillup Pinsky five dollars a week, so we ain't in much on that."

"Why ain't we, Sam? I bet yer we would get our money's worth out of
Fillup. That boy ain't going to fool away his time here, Sam, and don't
you forget it."

The corners of his mouth tightened in a manner that boded ill for
Philip, and his face had not resumed its normal amiability when Aaron
Pinsky entered, with his nephew Philip in tow.

"Hallo, boys," he said. "This is the young man I was talking to you
about. Fillup, shake hands with Mr. Zaretsky and Mr. Fatkin."

After this operation was concluded, Mr. Pinsky indulged in a fit of
coughing that almost broke the carbon filaments in the electric-light
bulbs.

"Fillup," he gasped, as he wiped his crimson face, "make for them a
couple birds with a pen."

"That's all right," Max interrupted, "we take your word for it. Birds
is nix here, Aaron. We ain't in the millinery business, we are in the
cloak and suit business, and instead Fillup should be making birds yet,
he shouldn't lose no time, but Sam will show him our stock. Right away
we will learn him the line."

"Business ah