right now," he concluded, "and see what I can
find out about him."

In three hours he returned and entered the show-room.

"Well, Abe," Morris cried, "what did you find out? Is it all right?"

Abe carefully selected a fresh cigar and shook his head solemnly.

"Nix, Mawruss," he said. "Mendel Immerglick is nix for a nice girl like
Miss Kreitmann."

He took paper out of his waistcoat pocket for the purpose of refreshing
his memory.

"First, I seen Moe Klein, of Klinger & Klein," he went on. "Moe says he
seen Mendel Immerglick, in the back of Wasserbauer's Cafe, playing
auction pinochle with a couple of loafer salesmen at three o'clock in
the afternoon, and while Moe was standing there already them two
low-lives set Immerglick back three times on four hundred hands at a
dollar a hundred, _double double_."

"And what was Moe doing there?" Morris asked.

"I wasn't making no investigation of Moe, Mawruss," Abe replied.
"Believe me, I got enough to do to find out about Immerglick. Also, Moe
tells me that Immerglick comes into their place and wants to buy off
them three thousand dollars at ninety days."

"And did they sell him?" Morris asked.

"Did they _sell_ him?" Abe cried. "If you was to meet a burglar coming
into the store at midnight with a jimmy and a dark lantern, Mawruss, I
suppose you'd volunteer to give him the combination of the safe. What?
No, Mawruss, they didn't sell him. Such customers is for suckers like
Sammet Brothers, Mawruss. Leon Sammet says they sold him three thousand
at four months. Also, Elenbogen sold him a big bill, same terms,
Mawruss. But big houses like Wechsel, Baum & Miller and Frederick
Stettermann won't sell him at any terms, Mawruss."

"If everybody was so conservative like Wechsel, Baum & Miller," said
Morris, "the retailers might as well go out of business."

"Wait a bit, Mawruss," Abe replied. "That ain't all. Louis Frank's wife
is a sister to the Traders' and Merchants' Outlet, of Louisville--you
know that thief, Marks Leshinsky; and Louis Frank's uncle, Mawruss, is
Elkan Frank & Company, them big swindlers, them auctioneers, out in
Chicago."

Abe sat down and dipped his pen in the inkwell with such force that the
spotless surface of Morris' shirt, which he had donned that morning,
assumed a polkadot pattern. It was, therefore, some minutes before Abe
could devote himself to his task in silence. Finally, he evolved the
following:

THE FLOWER CITY CREDIT O