't worth
a--a----" He was searching his mind for a sufficiently trivial standard
of comparison when Abe interrupted him.

"I thought you wasn't going to talk about him, Mawruss," he said; "and,
anyhow, Mawruss, what's the use talking about things what is past
already? What we got to do now, Mawruss, is to sell that house."

"I know it, Abe," Morris replied ruefully, "but how are we going to sell
that house with B. Rashkin going around offering to sell the identical
same house for forty-four five? If I would be lucky enough to get
forty-five seven-fifty for mine, Abe, I would still be out several
hundred dollars."

"You talk foolish, Mawruss; you would get forty-seven thousand, sure,
for that house."

"Would I?" Morris cried. "How would I do that?"

"Leave that to me," Abe replied.

He put on his hat and coat.

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

Abe waggled his head solemnly.

"You shouldn't ask me, Mawruss," he said. "I got an idee."

It was a quarter to twelve when Abe left the loft building on Nineteenth
Street, and he repaired immediately to the real-estate salesroom on
Vesey Street, where auction sales of real estate are held at noon daily.
To this center of real-estate activity comes every real-estate broker of
the East Side, together with his brothers from Harlem and the Bronx, and
Abe felt reasonably sure that B. Rashkin would be on hand.

Indeed, he had hardly entered the salesroom when he descried B. Rashkin
standing on the outskirts of a little throng that surrounded the rostrum
of a popular auctioneer.

"Now, gentlemen," said the auctioneer, "what am I offered for this
six-story, four-family house. Remember, gentlemen, it is practically new
and stands on a lot forty by a hundred."

"Forty thousand," said a voice at Abe's elbow.

"Come, gentlemen," the auctioneer cried, "we ain't making you a present
of this house, exactly. Do I hear forty-one? Thank you, sir. At
forty-one--at forty-one--at----"

Abe sidled up to B. Rashkin and in firm tones he made the next bid.

"Forty-one five," he said.

"Forty-one five," the auctioneer repeated, and B. Rashkin turned to
look at the bidder. He started visibly as he recognized Abe, who
bowed coldly.

"Why, hallo, Mr. Potash," Rashkin exclaimed. "I didn't know you was in
the market for property."

"Why not?" Abe said.

"Well, on account you got a partner who----"

"You don't got to rub it in, Mr. Rashkin," Abe interrupted. "If my
partner