nd what did he say?"

"He says he's working by Sammet Brothers under a contract, Mawruss, what
don't expire for a year yet, and they're holding up a quarter of his
wages under the contract, which he is to forfeit if he don't work it
out."

"Don't you believe it, Abe," Morris broke in. "He's standing out for
more money."

"Is he?" said Abe with some heat. "Well, I seen the contract, Mawruss,
so either I'm a liar or not, Mawruss, ain't it?"

Here they were interrupted by the entrance of a customer, Ike Herzog, of
the Bon Ton Credit Outfitting Company.

"Ah, Mr. Herzog!" Abe cried, rising to his feet and extending both hands
in greeting. "Glad to see you. Ain't it a fine weather?"

Mr. Herzog grunted in reply.

"Potash," he said, "when I give you that order last week, I don't know
whether I didn't buy a big lot of your style fifty-nine-ten, ain't it?"

"Yes, you did," said Abe.

"Well," said Herzog, "I want to cancel that part of the order."

"Cancel it!" Abe cried. "Why, what's the matter with them garments?
Ain't the samples made up right?"

"Sure, they're made up right," said Herzog, "only I seen something what
I like better. It's about the same style, only more attractive. I mean
Sammet Brothers' style forty-one-fifty--their new Arverne Sacque."

"Mr. Herzog!" Abe cried.

Herzog raised a protesting palm.

"Now, Potash," he said, "you know whatever I buy in staples you get the
preference; but when anybody's got a specialty like that Arverne Sacque,
what's the use of talking?"

He shook hands cordially.

"I'll be around to see you in about a week," he said, and the next
moment the door closed behind him.

"Well, Mawruss, that settles it," said Abe, putting on his hat. "When we
lose a good customer like Ike Herzog, I gets busy right away."

"Where are you going, Abe?" Morris asked.

Abe struggled into his overcoat and seized his umbrella.

"Round to Sammet Brothers," he replied. "I'm going to get that young
feller away from them if I got to pay 'em a thousand dollars to boot."

Leon Sammet, head of the copartnership of Sammet Brothers, sat in the
firm's sample room and puffed gloomily at a Wheeling stogy. His brother,
Barney Sammet, stood beside him reading aloud from a letter which he
held in his hand.

"'Gents,'" he said, "'your shipment of the fourteenth instant to hand,
and in reply will say we ain't satisfied with nothing but style
forty-one-fifty. Our Miss Kenny is a perfect thirty-six, a