It was the tenth of the month, and Abe Potash, of Potash & Perlmutter, was going through the firm mail with an exploratory thumb and finger, looking for checks.
"Well, Mawruss," he said to his partner, Morris Perlmutter, "all them hightone customers of yours they don't take it so particular that they should pay on the day, Mawruss. If they was only so prompt with checks as they was to claim deductions, Mawruss, you and me would have no worries. I think some of 'em finds a shortage in the shipment before they open the packing-case that the goods come in. Take your friend Hyman Maimin, of Sarahcuse—nothing suits him. He always kicks that the goods ain't made up right, or we ain't sent him enough fancies, or something like that. Five or six letters he writes us, Mawruss, when he gets the goods; but when he got to pay for 'em, Mawruss, that's something else again. You might think postage stamps was solitaire diamonds, and that he dassen't use 'em!"
"Quit your kicking," Perlmutter broke in. "This is only the tenth of the month."
"I know it," said Abe. "We should have had a check by the tenth of last month, but"—here Abe's eye lit upon an envelope directed in the handwriting of Hyman Maimin—"I guess there was some good reason for the delay," he went on evenly. "Anyhow, here's a letter from him now."
He tore open the envelope and hurriedly removed the enclosed letter. Then he took the envelope, blew it wide open, and shook it up and down, but no check fell out.
"Did y'ever see the like?" he exclaimed. "Sends us a letter and no check!"
"Why, it ain't a letter," Morris said. "It's an advertisement."
Abe's face grew white.
"A meeting of creditors!" he gasped.
Morris grabbed the missive from his partner and spread it out on the table.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, a great smile of relief spreading itself about his ears. "It's a wedding invitation!" He held it up to the light. "'Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Bramson,'" he read, "'request the pleasure of Potash & Perlmutter's company at the marriage of their daughter Tillie to Mr. Hyman Maimin, Sunday, March 19, at seven o'clock,p.m., Wiedermayer's Hall, 2099 South Oswego Street. R.S.V.P. to residence of bride, care of Advance Credit Clothing Company, 2097 South Oswego Street.'"
"What is that 'R.S.V.P. to residence of bride'?" Abe Potash asked.
Morris reflected for a moment.
"That means," he said at length, "that we should know where to send the present to."
"How do you make that out?" said Abe.
"'R.S.V.P.'," Morris replied, emphasizing each letter with a motion of his hand, "means 'Remember to send vedding present.'"
"But," Abe rejoined, "when I went to night school, we spelt 'wedding' with a W."
"A greenhorn like Maimin," said Morris, "don't know no better."
"He knows enough to ask for a wedding present, Mawruss," Abe commented, "even if he don't know how to spell it. We'll send him a wedding present, Mawruss! We'll send him a summons from the court, that's what we'll send him!"
Morris shook his head.
"That ain't no way to talk, Abe," he said. "If a customer gets married, wegotto send him a wedding present. It don't cost much, and if Hyman Maimin gets a couple of thousand dollars with this Miss—Miss—"
"Advance Credit Clothing Company," Abe helped out.
Morris nodded.
"Then he buys more goods, ain't it?" he concluded.
"Let him pay for what he's got," Abe rejoined.
"It just slipped his mind. He'll pay up fast enough, after he gets married."
"All right! Wait till he pays up, and then we'll give him a present."
"Now lookyhere, Abe," Morris protested, "you can't be small in a matter of this kind. I'll draw a check for twenty-five dollars, and—"
"Twenty-five dollars!" Abe screamed. "You're crazy! When you was married last year, I'd like to know who gives you a present for twenty-five dollars?"
"Why you did, Abe," Morris replied.
"Me?" Abe cried. "Say, Mawruss, I want to tell you something. If you can buy a fine sterling silver bumbum dish, like what I give you, for twenty-five dollars, I'll take it off your hands for twenty-seven-fifty any day!"
"But, Abe—"
"Another thing, Mawruss," Abe went on. "If you don't like that dish, there ain't no law compelling you to keep it, you understand. Send it back. My Rosie can use it. Maybe we ain't so stylish like your Minnie, Mawruss; but if we don't have bumbums every day, we could put dill pickles into it!"
"One moment," Morris protested. "I ain't saying anything about that bumbum dish, Abe. All I meant that if you givemesuch a high-price present whenIget married, that's all the more reason why we should give a high-price present to a customer what we will make money on. I ain't no customer, Abe."
"I know you ain't," said Abe. "You're only a partner, and I don't make no money on you, neither."
Morris shrugged his shoulders.
"What's the use of wasting more time about it, Abe?" he said. "Go ahead and buy a present."
"Me buy it?" Abe cried. "You know yourself, Mawruss, I ain't a success with presents. You draw the check and get your Minnie to buy it. She's an up-to-date woman, Mawruss, while my Rosie is a back number. She don't know nothing but to keep a good house, Mawruss. Sterling silver bumbum dishes she don't know, Mawruss. If I took her advice, you wouldn't got no bumbum dish. Nut-picks, Mawruss, from the five-and-ten-cent store, that's what you'd got. You might appreciate them, Mawruss; but a sterling silver—"
At this juncture Morris took refuge in the outer office, where Miss Cohen, the bookkeeper, was taking off her wraps.
"Miss Cohen," he said, "draw a check for twenty-five dollars to bearer, and enter it up as a gratification to Hyman Maimin."
At dinner that evening Morris handed the check over to his wife.
"Here Minnie," he said, "Abe wants you should buy a wedding present for a customer."
"What kind of a wedding present?" Mrs. Perlmutter asked.
"Something in solid sterling silver, like that bumbum dish what Abe gave us."
"But, Mawruss," she protested, "you know we got that bonbon dish locked away in the sideboard, and we never take it out. Let's give 'em something useful."
"Suit yourself," Morris replied. "Only don't bother me about it."
"All right," Mrs. Perlmutter said. "Leave me the name and address, and I'll see that they send it direct from the store. I'll put one of your cards inside."
"And another thing," Morris concluded. "See that you don't hold nothing out on us by way of commission."
Mrs. Perlmutter smiled serenely.
"I won't," she said, in dulcet tones.
It was the fourth day after Potash & Perlmutter's receipt of the wedding invitation. When Morris Perlmutter entered the private office he found Abe Potash in the absorbed perusal of theDaily Cloak and Suit Record. Abe looked up and saluted his partner with a malignant grin.
"Well, Mawruss," he said, "I suppose you sent that present to Hyman Maimin?"
"I sent it off long since already," Morris replied.
"I hope it was a nice one, Mawruss," Abe went on "I hope it was a real nice one. I'm sorry now, Mawruss, we didn't spend fifty dollars. That would have made it an even seven hundred, instead of only six hundred and seventy-five, that Hyman Maimin owed us."
"What d'ye mean?" cried Morris.
"I don't mean nothing, Mawruss—nothing at all," Abe said, with ironical emphasis. He handed the paper to Morris. "Here, look for yourself!"
He pointed with a trembling forefinger at the "business-troubles" column, and Morris's eyes seemed to bulge out of his head as he scanned the printed page:
A petition in bankruptcy was filed late yesterday afternoon against Hyman Maimin, 83 West Tonawanda Street, Syracuse. It is claimed that he transferred assets to the amount of eight thousand dollars last week. Mr. Maimin says that he has been doing business at a heavy loss of late, but that he hopes to be able to resume. A settlement of thirty cents is proposed.
A petition in bankruptcy was filed late yesterday afternoon against Hyman Maimin, 83 West Tonawanda Street, Syracuse. It is claimed that he transferred assets to the amount of eight thousand dollars last week. Mr. Maimin says that he has been doing business at a heavy loss of late, but that he hopes to be able to resume. A settlement of thirty cents is proposed.
Morris sat down in a revolving-chair too crushed for comment, and drummed with a lead pencil on the desk.
"I wonder if he done up his intended father-in-law, too?" he said at length.
"No fear of that, Mawruss," Abe replied. "He ain't no sucker like us, Mawruss. I bet you his father-in-law—what's his name—"
"The Advance Credit Clothing Company," Morris suggested.
"Sure," Abe went on. "I bet you this clothing concern says to him: 'If you want to marry my daughter, you gotter go into bankruptcy first. Then, when you're all cleaned up, I'll give you a couple of thousand dollars to start as a new beginner in another line.' Ain't it?"
Morris nodded gloomily.
"No, Mawruss," Abe continued. "I bet you his father-in-law is a big crook like himself."
He rose to his feet and opened the large green-and-red covered book furnished by the commercial agency to which they subscribed.
"I'm going to do now, Mawruss, what you should have done before you sent that present," he said. "I'm going to look up this here Advance Credit Clothing Company. I bet you he ain't even in the book—what?"
Before Morris could reply, the letter-carrier entered with the morning mail. While Abe continued to run his thumb down the columns of the commercial agency book, Morris began to open the envelopes. Both their heads were bent over their tasks, when an exclamation arose simultaneously from each.
"Now, what d'ye think of that?" said Abe.
"Did y' ever see anything like it?" Morris cried.
"What is it?" Abe asked.
For answer, Morris thrust a letter into his partner's hand. It was headed, "The Advance Credit Clothing Company—Marcus Bramson, Proprietor," and read as follows:
Messrs. Potash & Perlmutter.The Advance Credit Clothing Company,Per T. B.Gents:Your shipment of the 5th is to hand, and in reply would say that we are returning itviaBlue Line on account Miss Tillie Bramson's engagement is broken. We understand that lowlife H. Maimin got into you for six hundred and fifty dollars. Believe me, he done us for more than that. Our Mr. Bramson will be in New York shortly, and will call to look at your line. Hoping we will be able to do business with you,Yours truly,
Your shipment of the 5th is to hand, and in reply would say that we are returning itviaBlue Line on account Miss Tillie Bramson's engagement is broken. We understand that lowlife H. Maimin got into you for six hundred and fifty dollars. Believe me, he done us for more than that. Our Mr. Bramson will be in New York shortly, and will call to look at your line. Hoping we will be able to do business with you,
Yours truly,
Abe Potash laid down the letter with a sigh, while his thumb still rested caressingly on the open page of the mercantile agency book.
"So he's going to send back the present!" he said. "That man Marcus Bramson, proprietor, has a big heart, Mawruss. He's a man with fine feelings and a fine disposition, Mawruss. He's got a fine rating too, Mawruss—seventy-five to a hundred thousand, first credit!" He closed the book almost lovingly. "D'ye think they would give the money back for that present, Mawruss?"
"I don't know," said Morris. "Minnie bought it, and she told me it was a big bargain. It was a sale, she said, but I guess they'll take it back."
"What did it look like?" Abe said.
"I didn't see it," Morris replied. "They sent it direct from the store, but I took Minnie's word for it. She said it was fine value."
"And Minnie," Abe concluded, "is a fine, up-to-date woman."
Two days later, Abe Potash spotted the name of Marcus Bramson in the "Arrival of Buyers" column of a morning newspaper.
"Mawruss," he cried, "he's come!"
"Who's come?" Morris asked.
"Marcus Bramson," Abe replied, reaching for his hat. "I'm going over to the Bingler House now to meet him. You wait here till I come back. I bet you we sell him a big bill of goods!"
As Abe went out of the store by the front door, an expressman, bearing a square wooden box, entered the rear alley. He brought the package straight to Miss Cohen, who signed a receipt, and summoned Mr. Perlmutter. Morris proceeded to pry off the cover.
"This is something what Mrs. Perlmutter bought for Hyman Maimin's wedding present," he explained. "I ain't never seen it yet."
He pulled out a number of wads of tissue paper. When he finally reached a piece of silverware, he turned the box upside down and shook out the remainder of its contents upon a sample table.
"Oh, Mr. Perlmutter," Mist Cohen exclaimed, clasping her hands, "what a beautiful bonbon dish! What a lovely wedding present!"
Morris looked at the bonbon dish, and beads of perspiration started on his forehead.
"Ain't Mrs. Perlmutter got good taste!" Miss Cohen went on enthusiastically.
Morris said nothing, but picked up the silver dish. Examining the polished centre carefully, he discerned the indistinct initials "M. P." almost but not quite effaced by buffing. Undoubtedly it was the same bonbon dish.
He gathered up the tissue paper and carefully arranged it in the box as a bed for the silver dish. Then he put the cover on, and nailed it down.
"Ain't you going to let Mr. Potash see it?" Miss Cohen asked. "He ain't never seen it before, neither, has he?"
Morris frowned.
"I think he has," he replied. "Anyhow, I'm going to send it right uptown by messenger boy."
"Do you think they'll exchange it?" Miss Cohen inquired.
"Oh, I guess it will be put back in stock all right," said Morris, turning away.
The next morning, when Morris entered the store, Abe was busy figuring on the back of a torn envelope.
"Hello, Mawruss!" he cried, looking up. "Ain't it beautiful weather?"
Morris agreed that it was.
"That Mr. Bramson," Abe went on, "that's one fine gentleman, Mawruss. He ain't what you'd call a close buyer, neither, Mawruss."
"No?" Morris commented.
"The way I figure it," Abe continued, "reckoning on what we lost by Hyman Maimin, if he settles for thirty cents, and what we make out of Mr. Bramson's first order, we come out even to the dollar!"
"So?" Morris murmured.
"All excepting that wedding present, Mawruss," Abe. "By the way, Mawruss, ain't that wedding present come back yet?"
"Why, sure," said Morris. "It come back yesterday, when you were out."
"Why ain't you showed it to me? Ain't I got no right to see it, Mawruss?"
"Of course you got a right to see it," Morris assented, "but I thought I'd get it right up town to Minnie and have it exchanged."
"And did she exchange it?" Abe asked.
"Well, it's like this," Morris explained. "Minnie liked it so well that she decided on keeping it, so I'll give the firm my personal check for twenty-five dollars."
Abe puffed hard on his cigar.
"You're a purty generous feller, Mawruss," he commented, "to give Minnie a present like that—for nothing at all, ain't it?"
"Oh, no, I ain't Abe," Morris replied. "I ain't giving it to her for nothing at all. I'm taking it out of her housekeeping money, Abe—five dollars a month!"
"There's no use talking, Abe," Morris Perlmutter declared to his partner, Abe Potash, as they sat in the sample-room of their spacious cloak-and-suit establishment. "We got a system of bookkeeping that would disgrace a peanut-stand. Here's a statement from the Hamsuckett Mills, and it shows a debit balance of eleven hundred and fifty dollars what we owe them. Miss Cohen's figures is eleven hundred and forty-two."
"That's in our favour already," Abe replied. "The Hamsuckett people must be wrong, Mawruss."
"No, they ain't, Abe," Morris said. "It's Miss Cohen's mistake."
"Mistake?" Abe exclaimed. "When it's in our favour, Mawruss, it ain't no mistake!"
"It's a mistake, anyhow, no matter in whose favour it is," said Morris. "Miss Cohen's footing was wrong. She gets carelesser every day."
"I'm surprised to hear you that you should talk that way, Mawruss," Abe rejoined. "Miss Cohen's been with us for five years, and we ain't lost nothing by her, neither. You know as well as I do, Mawruss, her uncle, Max Cohen, is a good customer of ours. Only last week he bought of us a big bill of goods, Mawruss."
"Just the same, Abe," Morris went on, "if we get a bright young man in there, instead of Miss Cohen, it would be a big improvement. We ought to get some one in there what can manage a double entry, and can run a card-index for our credits."
Abe puffed vigorously at his cigar.
"I suppose, Mawruss, if we got a card-index and we sell a crook a bill of goods," he commented, "and the crook busts up on us, Mawruss, that card-index is going to stop him from sticking us—what? Well, Mawruss, if you want to put in a young feller and fire Miss Cohen, go ahead—I'm satisfied."
As if to clinch the matter before his partner could retract this somewhat grudging consent, Morris Perlmutter stalked out of the sample-room and made resolutely for the glass-enclosed office, where Miss Cohen was busy writing in a ledger. She looked up as he entered, and surveyed him calmly with her large black eyes.
"Oh, Mr. Perlmutter!" she said when he came within ear-shot, "Uncle Max was round to the house last night, and he wants you should duplicate them forty-twenty-twos in his last order and ship at once."
Morris stopped short. This was something he had not foreseen, and all his well-formulated plans for the firing of Miss Cohen were shattered at once.
"Oh!" he said lamely. "Thank you, Miss Cohen; I'll make a memorandum of it." He went over to the commercial agency book and scanned three or four pages with an unseeing eye. Then he repaired to the sample room, where Abe sat finishing his cigar.
"Well, Mawruss," said Abe, his face wreathed in a malicious grin, "you made a quick job of it."
Morris scowled.
"I ain't spoken to her yet," he grunted. "I got a little gumption, Abe—a little consideration and common sense. I don't throw out my dirty water until I get clean."
Abe puffed slowly before replying.
"I seen some people, Mawruss," he said, "what sometimes throws out perfectly clean water, and gets some dirty water in exchange, Mawruss." He threw away the stump of his cigar.
"Sometimes, Mawruss," he concluded solemnly, "they gets a good, big souse, Mawruss, where they least expect it."
Ike Feinsilver, city salesman for the Hamsuckett Mills—Goldner & Plotkin, proprietors—was obviously his own ideal of a well-dressed man. His shirts and waistcoats represented a taste as original as it was not subdued; but it was in the selection of his neckties that he really excelled. Abe and Morris fairly blinked as they surveyed his latest acquisition in cravats when he entered the door of their store that afternoon, smiling a pleasant greeting at his prospective customers.
He presented so brilliant a picture that Miss Cohen was drawn from her desk in the glass-enclosed office toward the trio in the sample room as inevitably as the moth to the candle flame. She took up some cutting slips from a table, by way of excuse for her intrusion, but the blush and smile with which she acknowledged Ike's rather perfunctory nod betrayed her. Abe was fingering the Hamsuckett swatches, but Miss Cohen's embarrassment did not escape Morris Perlmutter. He marked it with an inward start, and immediately conceived a brilliant idea.
"Ike," he said, when Abe had completed the giving of a small order and had left them alone together, "a young feller like you ought to get married."
Ike was non-committal.
"Sure Mawruss," he replied. "Every young feller ought to get married."
"I'm glad you look at it so sensible, Ike," Morris went on. "Getting married right, Ike, has been the making of many a young feller. Where d'ye suppose Goldner & Plotkin would be to-day if they hadn't got married right? They'd be selling goods for somebody else, Ike. But Goldner, he married Bella Frazinsky, with a couple of thousand dollars maybe; and Plotkin, he goes to work and gets Garfunkel's sister—she was pretty old, Ike; but if she ain't got a fine complexion, Ike, she got a couple of thousand dollars, too, ain't it? Well, Plotkin with his two thousand and Goldner with his two thousand, they start in together as new beginners. They gets the selling agency for the Hamsuckett people, and then they makes big money and buys them out. To-day Goldner & Plotkin is rich men, and all because they got marriedright!"
Feinsilver listened with parted lips.
"And now, Ike," Morris continued, "the good seed sown, we talked enough, ain't it? Come on to the office. I want to show you some little mistakes in the Hamsuckett statement."
He conducted Ike to the glass-enclosed office, where Miss Cohen bent low over her ledger. The blush with which she had received Ike's greeting had not entirely disappeared; and, as she glanced up, her large black eyes looked like those of a frightened deer. Morris was forced to admit to himself that if her bookkeeping was doubtful, at least there could be no mistake about her charms. As for Ike, now that the business of securing orders was done with, he surrendered himself to gallantry, for which he had a natural aptitude.
"Ah, Miss Cohen," he said, "ain't it a fine weather?"
A pleased smile spread itself over Morris's face.
"I think I hear the telephone in the sample room," he broke in hurriedly. "Excuse me for a moment."
When he returned, Ike and Miss Cohen were chatting gaily.
"What do you think ofthat?" Morris cried. "My Minnie just rang me up and says she got tickets for the theayter to-morrow night—two tickets. We can't use 'em, because we're going to a—a wedding. Would you two young folks like to go, maybe?"
"Why, sure," Ike said. "Sure we would. Wouldn't we, Miss Cohen?"
Miss Cohen assented bashfully.
"Well, then," said Morris, "I'll get 'em for you—I mean I'll send 'em you by mail to-night, Ike."
Ike was profuse in his thanks; and then and there arranged to call for Miss Cohen at half-past seven, sharp, the following evening.
Morris beamed his approval and shook hands heartily with Ike as the latter turned to leave.
"How about that mistake in the statement?" Ike asked.
"Some other time," said Morris, walking with Ike toward the store-door. Then he sank his voice to a confidential whisper. "That's a fine girl, Miss Cohen," he went on. "Comes of fine family, too. She's Max Cohen's niece. You know Max Cohen. He's the Beacon Credit Outfitting Company. He's amillionaire, Ike. If he's worth a cent, he's worth a hundred thousand dollars!"
Ike turned on him an awed yet searching look as they clasped hands again in parting.
"I give you my word, Ike, she's his favourite niece," Morris concluded, "and he ain't got no children of his own."
The ensuing week was a busy one for all concerned. Abe was occupied in the store with an unusual rush of spring trade, Morris had his hands full in the office and cutting-room; but Miss Cohen and Ike Feinsilver had been busiest of all, for in less than six days after their visit to the theatre a solitaire diamond-ring sparkled on the third finger of the lady's left hand.
"Well, Mawruss," Abe said ten days later, "I suppose you fired Miss Cohen?"
"Me fire Miss Cohen?" Morris exclaimed. "I'm surprised to hear you that you should talk that way, Abe. What for should I fire Miss Cohen?"
"Why, last week you said you was going to fire her, ain't it?"
"Last week," Morris replied, "was another day. If I ain't got no more sense than that I should go to a fine young lady like Miss Cohen, and say, 'Miss Cohen, you're fired,' after she worked for us five years, and her uncle also a good customer, I should be sorry, Abe."
"Then, we're going to keep her, after all—what?" Abe said.
"No, we ain't going to keep her," said Morris. "We're going to lose her."
"Loseher! What d'ye mean?"
Morris smiled in a superior way.
"Abe," he said, "you ain't got no eyes in your head. Ain't you noticed that ring on Miss Cohen's left hand?"
Abe stared in astonishment.
"It's a beauty, Abe," Morris went on. "A bright young feller like Ike Feinsilver don't get stuck, no matter what he buys. He got it through Plotkin's cousin down on Maiden Lane."
Abe sat down to ponder over the news.
"You mean," he said at length, "that Ike Feinsilver, of the Hamsuckett Mills, is going to marry Miss Cohen?"
"You guessed it right, Abe," Morris replied.
"And who fixed it up?" said Abe.
Morris slapped his chest proudly.
"I did," he replied.
Abe smoked on in silence.
"I suppose I must congratulate her, Mawruss?" he said at length, starting to rise.
"There's no hurry," said Morris. "I let her go uptown this morning. She wanted to do some shopping."
Abe sat down again.
"You done a smart piece of work, Mawruss, I must say," he admitted. "Ike's a good feller, and Miss Cohen'll make him a good wife, even if she ain't a good bookkeeper. Also, we done a good turn to Max Cohen. I bet he's pleased. I wonder he ain't been around yet."
Hardly had the words issued from Mr. Potash's mouth, when the store-door opened to admit a short, thick-set person, and then closed again with a bang that threatened every pane of glass in the vicinity. There was no hesitation about the newcomer's actions. He made straight for the sample room, and had almost reached it before Abe could scramble to his feet. The latter rushed forward and grabbed the visitor's hand.
"Mr. Cohen," he cried, "what a pleasure this is! I congratulate you!"
Mr. Cohen withdrew his hand from Abe's cordial grasp.
"You congradulateme, hey?" he said, with slow and ironic emphasis. "Mawruss Perlmutteralsocongradulates me—what?" He fixed the unhappy Morris with a terrible glare. "Don't congradulateme," he went on. "Congradulate Ike Feinsilver and Beckie Cohen." He gathered force as he proceeded. "Fools!" he continued in a rapid crescendo. "Meddlers! You spill my blood! You ruin me! I'm a millionaire, you tell Feinsilver. I've got nothing to do with my money but that I should throw it away in the street!"
"MisterCohen," Morris protested, "you'll make yourself sick."
"I'll makeyousick!" Cohen rejoined. "I'll make for you a blue eye, too.Five thousand dollarsI got to give her!"
Abe whistled involuntarily.
"I should think two thousand would be plenty," he suggested.
Max Cohen turned on him with another glare.
"What!" he shrieked. "Am I a beggar? Should I give my niece a miserable two thousand dollars? Ain't I got no pride? Igotto make it five thousand!" He paused while his imagination dwelt on the magnitude of this colossal sum. "Five thousand dollars!" he shrieked again, "and business the way it is!"
Mr. Perlmutter laid a soothing palm on Cohen's shoulder.
"But, Mr. Cohen," he said, "what canwedo? Why should you tellusall this?"
Mr. Cohen shook off Morris's caress.
"You're right," he said. "Why should I tell you all this? I didn't come here to tell you this. I come here to tell you something else. I come here to tell you to cancel all orders what I give you. Also, if you or your salesman come by my place ever again, look out; that's all. The way I feel it now, I'll murder you!" He turned to leave. "And another thing," he concluded. "One thing, you can depend on it. So far what I can help it, you don't sell one dollar's worth of goods to any of my friends, never no more!"
Again the door banged explosively, and Mr. Cohen was gone.
For ten minutes there was an awed silence in the sample room. At length Abe looked at his partner with a sickly smile.
"Well, Mawruss," he said, "you made a nice mess of it, ain't you?"
Morris was too stunned to reply.
"That's what comes of not minding your own business," said Abe. "We lose a good customer, and maybe several good customers. We lose a good bookkeeper, too, Mawruss—one what has been with us for five years; and also we are out a wedding present."
"I meant it good," Morris protested. "I done it for the best. It says in the Talmud, Abe, that we are commanded to promote marriages."
Abe waggled his head solemnly.
"This is the first time I hear it, that you are a Talmudist, Mawruss!" he said.
A month passed, and Miss Cohen continued to apply herself to her daily task at Potash & Perlmutter's books.
"I don't understand it, Mawruss," Abe said one morning. "Why don't that girl quit her job? She must have all sorts of things to do—clothes to buy and furniture to pick out, ain't it?"
Perlmutter shrugged his shoulders.
"I spoke to her about it," he replied, "and she says so long as we're so busy here, she guesses she will stay on the job as long as she can. She says her mommer and her sister can do all the shopping for her."
"You see, Mawruss, what a mistake you make," Abe commented with a sigh.
"That's a fine girl, that Miss Cohen!"
Morris nodded gloomily. He began to realize that he had made a mistake, after all. Only that morning Mrs. Perlmutter had demanded twenty dollars with which to make over her best frock for Miss Cohen's wedding.
"Sure, she's a fine girl," he agreed; "but you got to admit yourself, Abe, that a growing business like ours needs a hustling young man for a bookkeeper."
"That's all right, too, Mawruss," said Abe; "but you also got to admit that what a growing business like ours needs most of all, Mawruss, is customers; and so far what I see, we don't gain any customers by this. Also, my wife has got to make a new dress for the wedding. She told me so this morning."
Morris made no reply. He was growing heartily sick of this business of firing Miss Cohen, and consoled himself with the thought that the wedding was fast approaching, and that they would be rid of her for good.
At length the wedding-day arrived. Miss Cohen left Potash & Perlmutter's at four o'clock, for the ceremony was set for half-past seven in the evening. Her parting with her employers was an embarrassing one for all three. Abe handed her a check for twenty-five dollars, with the firm's blessing, and Morris shook her hand in comparative silence. He had done and suffered much for that moment of leave-taking; and further than wishing her a long and happy married life, he said nothing. As for Abe, the squandering of twenty-five dollars, without hope of return, temporarily exhausted his capacity for emotion.
"Good luck to you, Miss Cohen," he said. "Hope we see you again soon."
"Oh, sure!" Miss Cohen replied cheerfully. "You'll be at the wedding to-night?"
Abe nodded—they all nodded—and then, with a final handshake all around, Miss Cohen departed.
It must be confessed that the wedding reception that evening was a very enjoyable occasion for all the guests, with the possible exception of Max Cohen. The wine flowed like French champagne at four dollars a quart, while, as Morris Perlmutter at once deduced from the careful way in which the waiters disguised the label with a napkin, it was really domestic champagne of an inferior quality. Nevertheless, Abe Potash drank more than his share, in a rather futile attempt to get back, in kind, part of the twelve and a half dollars he had contributed toward Miss Cohen's wedding-present, to say nothing of the cost of his wife's gown.
Consequently, on the morning after the festivities he entered his place of business in no very pleasant frame of mind. He found that Morris had already arrived.
"Well, Mawruss," he said in greeting, "everything went off splendid—for Feinsilver. Max Cohen came down with a certified check for five thousand dollars, you and me got rid of about over a hundred, counting the wedding-present and our wives' dresses, and Miss Cohen got a husband and a lot of cut glass, whileme—I got a headache!"
Morris grunted.
"I guess you don't feel too good yourself, ain't it?" Abe went on. "Anyhow, you got to get busy now, and find some smart young feller to keep the books. You got rid of your dirty water, Mawruss; now you got to get some clean. Did you put an 'ad' in the papers, Mawruss?"
"No, I ain't," Morris snapped.
"Ain't you going to?"
"What for?" Morris growled. "We don't need no bookkeeper."
"Why not?" Abe cried.
Morris nodded in the direction of the office.
"Because wegotone," he replied.
Abe turned toward the little glass enclosure. He gasped in amazement, and nearly swallowed the stump of his cigar, for at the old stand, industriously applying herself to the books of Potash & Perlmutter, sat Mrs. Isaac Feinsilver,néeCohen.
A moment later the door opened, and Isaac Feinsilver entered, immaculately clothed in a suit of zebra-like design. He proceeded to the bookkeeper's office and kissed the blushing bride; then he repaired to the sample room.
"Good morning, Mawruss! Good morning, Abe!" he said briskly. "Ain't it a fine weather?" He threw a bundle of swatches upon the sample table. "My partners, Goldner & Plotkin, and me"—here he paused to note the effect—"is putting out a fine line of spring goods, and I want to show you some."
Abe and Morris looked over Ike's line in dazed astonishment; and before they were really cognizant of what was going on, Ike had booked a generous order. He gathered up the samples into a neat little heap and put them under his arm.
"That ain't so bad," he said, "for a honeymoon order."
Then he turned and strode toward the bookkeeper's office. Once more he saluted the lips of his assiduous spouse, and a moment later he was walking rapidly down the street. Abe looked after him and expelled a huge breath.
"You find it in the Talmud that we are commanded to promote marriages, ain't it, Mawruss?" he said. "But one thing's sure, Mawruss—you can't run a cloak-and-suit business according to the Talmud." There was a short silence. "Did you ask her why she comes back, Mawruss?" he said.
Morris took the end off a particularly black cigar with one vicious bite.
"I didn't have to ask her. She told me," he said bitterly. "She says a smart girl can get a husband any day, she says; but a good job is hard to find, and when you got one, you should stick to it!"
"What are you talking nonsense, Abe," Morris Perlmutter declared hotly, one morning in December; "an elegant class of people lives in the houses. On the same floor with me lives Harry Baskof, which he is just married a daughter of Maisener & Finkman. You remember Max Finkman, for years a salesman for B. Senft & Co. Downstairs is a lawyer, a young feller by the name Sholy, and on the ground floor is Doctor Eichendorfer."
"With lawyers, Mawruss," Abe said, "we got enough to do downtown, ain't it? Doctors also, Mawruss. I am once living next door to a doctor, and every time I meet that feller he says 'How do you do?' to me like he would mean, 'It's a fine day for an operation.' I get a pain in my right side whenever I think of him even."
"Never mind, Abe," Morris rejoined. "Oncet in a while a doctor in the house comes in pretty handy—a lawyer too. A feller could get a whole lot of pointers riding up and down in an elevator with a lawyer. Ain't it? The only trouble about the house is the family above us, which the lady is all the time hollering like somebody would be giving her a licking already. Minnie says that she hears from our girl that her girl says she was an opera singer in the old country."
"Yow, an opera singer in the old country!" Abe exclaimed skeptically. "In Russland they don't got so many opera singers as all that."
"What d'ye mean, in Russland?" Morris demanded. "The woman ain't from Russland at all. She's an Italiener. I am coming up in the elevator last night with her husband and a friend, and the way they are talking to each other it sounds like a couple of bushelers in a factory. I tell you the honest truth, Abe, for me it don't make no difference if a feller would be a Frencheroderan Irishman, so long as he treats me white I would be a good feller, Abe; but an Italiener, Abe, is something else again. An Italiener would as lief stick a knife into you as look at you, Abe, and they smell the whole house out with garlic yet."
"There's lots of things smells worse as garlic, Mawruss," Abe retorted, "and as for sticking a knife into you, that's allschmooes. There's lots of people worser as Italieners, I bet yer, and when it comes right down to it, Mawruss, I'd a whole lot sooner have a couple Italieners working for me as some of them fellers which they are coming over from Russland."
"Since when did you got such friendly feelings for Italieners, Abe?" Morris inquired satirically.
"Never mind!" Abe exclaimed. "You could knock an Italiener all you want, Mawruss, but you could take it from me, Mawruss, when an Italiener's got work to do he don't stand around talking a lot of nonsense instead of attending to business, like some people I know."
With this scathing rejoinder Abe trudged off toward the cutting room and Morris proceeded to the office. He had hardly seated himself comfortably at his desk, however, when Abe burst into the room.
"That's the way it goes, Mawruss," he cried. "Half the time we sit andschmooesin the showroom and we don't know what goes on in our cutting room at all."
"What's the matter now?" Morris asked.
"Harkavy has quit us again," Abe replied.
"Quit us!" Morris exclaimed. "What for?"
"Nothing. All I says to the feller was why them piece goods is on the floor, and he says he is sick and tired and I should get another designer."
Morris bit the end off a new cigar and glared ferociously at Abe.
"So," he said bitterly, "we lose another designer through you, Abe. What do you think, a designer would stand for abuse the same like a partner, Abe?"
"What d'ye mean—abuse, Mawruss?" Abe protested. "I ain't said no abuse to the feller at all; and even if I would, Mawruss, I guess I could talk like how I want to in my own cutting room, Mawruss."
Morris rose to his feet.
"Schon gut, Abe," he said. "Don't ask me I should step right into Harkavy's shoes and work like a dawg till you are finding a new designer, Abe. Them days is past, Abe."
"You shouldn't worry yourself, Mawruss," Abe retorted. "The way business is so rotten nowadays, y'understand, we would quick get another designer."
"Would you?" Morris cried. "Well, I guess I got something to say about that, Abe. If you think we are going to work to hire a designer which he is getting fired by every John, Dick and Harry, you got another think coming. This time, Abe, I would hire the designer, and don't you forget it."
"Did I say I wanted to do it, Mawruss?" Abe asked. "Go ahead and hire him, Mawruss, only one thing I got to ask you as a favour: don't say the feller was my choice, Mawruss; because I wipe my hands from the whole matter."
For the remainder of the day Morris and Abe maintained only such speaking relations as were necessary to the conduct of their business, and when Morris went home that evening he wore so gloomy an air that Harry Baskof, who rode up on the elevator with him, was moved to comment.
"What's the matter, Mawruss?" he said. "You look like your best customer would be asking an extension on you."
"We don't sell such people at all, Harry," Morris said bitterly. "Collections is all right, Harry, but when a feller's got a partner which he is got such a quick temper, understand me, that he fires out the help faster as I could hire 'em—I got a right to look worried. Our designer leaves us to-day."
"Ain't that terrible, Mawruss," Harry said in mock sympathy. "I suppose you couldn't walk for miles on Fifth Avenue between Eighteenth and Twenty-third Street and break your neck falling over a hundred designers which they are hanging around there looking for jobs."
They alighted at the third floor and Morris drew his latchkey from his waistcoat pocket.
"Sure, I know, Harry," he retorted. "Them people which they already got designers could always find a better one, y'understand, but when you ain't got a designer, Harry, that's something else again. You could advertise until you are blue in the face, and all the answers you get is from fellers which they couldn't design a sausage casing for a frankfurter already."
"Schmooes, Mawruss!" Harry cried. "I could get you thousands of designers. In fact, Mawruss, only this afternoon my father-in-law, Mr. Finkman, sends me over a man which he is working for years by Senft & Co. as a designer, I should give him a job. I already got a good designer, so what could I do?"
"Why didn't you think to send him over to me, Harry?" Morris said.
"How should I know you wanted a designer?" Harry rejoined. "But, anyhow, maybe it ain't too late yet. After supper I would ring up Mr. Finkman and I'll let you know."
"Much obliged," Morris said, as he turned the key and entered his own apartment. He was so far restored to good humour by his conversation with Harry Baskof that when he bestowed his evening kiss on Minnie he failed to notice that her eyes were somewhat swollen.
"Yes, Minnie," he said, "that's the way it is when you got good neighbours."
"Good neighbours!" Minnie said bitterly, and then for the first time Morris observed her swollen eyelids.
"Why, Minnieleben," he exclaimed as he folded her in a second embrace, "what's the trouble?"
"Don't, Morris," Minnie said almost snappishly, as she wriggled away from him; "my waist is mussed up enough from working in the kitchen, without your crushing it."
"Working in the kitchen!" Morris said. "What's the matter? Is Tillie sick?"
"No, she isn't," Minnie replied, as she rushed off toward the kitchen. "She's gone."
Morris hung up his coat and made his perfunctory toilet without another word. Despite Minnie's pathetic appearance, there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes that urged Morris to the exercise of the most delicate marital diplomacy.
"What a soup!" he exclaimed, as he subjected the first spoonful to a long, gurgling inhalation. "If they got such soup as this at the Waldorf, Minnieleben, I bet yer the least they would soak you for it is a dollar."
Following the soup came boiled brisket, a dish that Morris loathed. Ordinarily Morris would have eaten it with sulky diffidence, but when Minnie bore the steaming dish from the kitchen he not only jumped from his seat to take it from her hands, but after he had deposited it on the table he kissed her on the forehead with lover-like delicacy.
"How did you know I am thinking all the way up on the subway if Minnie would only gotBrustdeckelfor supper for a change what a treat it would be?" he said.
Minnie's glum face broke into a smile and Morris fairly beamed.
"What do you bother your head so about a girl leaves you, Minnieleben," he cried. "You could get plenty of girls. On Lenox Avenue a feller could break his neck already falling over girls which is hanging around looking for jobs."
"Oh, I know you can get lots of girls," Minnie agreed, "but you've got to train them, Morris; but then, too, I wouldn't care so much, but those awful Italians upstairs went and stole Tillie away from me."
"What!" Morris shouted. "Them Italieners done it? Well, what do you think of that for a dirty trick?"
"And they only pay her three dollars a month more," Minnie continued.
"Three dollars a month more, hey?" Morris replied. "Well, that's the way it is, Minnie. Honestly, Minnie, anybody which they would steal away from you somebody which is working for you, it ain't safe to live in the same house with them at all. A feller which steals away feller's help would pick a pocket. Such cut-throats you couldn't trust at all." He helped himself to some more brisket.
"Never mind, Minnie," he said, "if it would be necessary we will pay a girl a couple dollars more a week so long as we get a good one."
"Will we?" Minnie said. "Since when are you running this house, Morris?"
"I was only talking in a manner of speaking," he hastened to say. "Where do you buy such goodBrustdeckel, Minnie? Honestly, it takes in a way a genius to pick out such meat."
"Does it?" Minnie rejoined. "I ordered it over the 'phone, and furthermore, Morris, if you make so much noise eating it you will wake the boy."
"I'm all through, Minnie," Morris said. "Wait—I'll show you how I could help you wash the dishes."
As he started for the kitchen with one butterplate in his hand the doorbell rang, whereupon he returned the butterplate to the dining-room table and hastened down the hall.
"Hallo, Mawruss," cried Harry Baskof as Morris opened the door. "I rung up the old man and he says he got the feller a job with Sammet Brothers."
"Come inside," Morris answered, and led the way to the parlour. He motioned his visitor to a seat and produced a box of cigars.
"Do you mean to say the feller got a job as quick as all that?" he continued.
"He sure did, Mawruss," Harry replied. "He's an elegant designer, Mawruss, and if B. Senft knew his business he never would got rid of him at all."
"Why, what did he done to B. Senft?" Morris asked.
"Nothing at all, Mawruss. Senft is crazy. He gets a prejudice against the feller all of a sudden on account he's an Italiener."
"Italiener!" Morris cried.
"Sure," Harry replied. "Did you ever hear the like, Mawruss, that a man like Senft, which his folksosercome over in the Mayflower neither, y'understand, should kick on account a feller is an Italiener? And mind you, Mawruss, the feller is otherwise perfectly decent, respectable feller by the name Enrico Simonetti."
Morris nodded.
"With a name like that he must got to be a good designer," he commented, "otherwise Sammet Brothers wouldn't hire him at all. It would take a whole lot more gumption than Leon Sammet got it to call such a feller from the cutting room even."
"That's all right, Mawruss. You don't have to call such a feller from the cutting room. He could run a cutting room as well as design garments; and in fact, Mawruss, when Sammet Brothers pay that feller two thousand a year, y'understand, they are practically getting him for nothing."
"Two thousand a year!" Morris exclaimed. "Why, we ourselves would pay him twenty-five hundred."
"The feller's worth four thousand if he's worth a cent, Mawruss, but the way business is so rotten nowadays he was willing to take two thousand.Abermy father-in-law, Mr. Finkman, told me on the 'phone, the roar this feller puts up when Leon Sammet offers him eighteen hundred, Leon was pretty near afraid for his life already."
"I don't blame him," Morris commented. "Such highwaymen like Sammet Brothers they would beat a feller's price down to nothing. We ain't that way with our help, Harry. If we would got a good man working by us we—"
"Morris!" cried a voice from the kitchen.
"Yes," Morris replied, jumping to his feet. In less than two minutes he reappeared and approached Harry with an apologetic smile. "Would you excuse me a couple minutes, Harry?" he asked. "I got to run over to the grocer for a box of soap powder. Our girl threw up her job on us."
"I'll go with you," Harry replied. "I need to get a little air."
A minute later they walked down the street to Lenox Avenue, and as they approached the corner Harry nodded to a short, dark personage who was proceeding slowly down the street.
"Al-lo!" he cried, seizing Harry by the arm, "adjer do?"
"Fine, thanks," Harry said. "Let me introduce you to a friend of mine by the name Mr. Perlmutter. This is Mr. Simonetti, Mawruss, which I am talking to you about."
Morris shook hands limply.
"You don't tell me," he said. "You know me, Mr. Simmons? My partner is Mr. Potash. I guess you hear B. Senft speak about us."
"Sure," Simonetti said. "Mister Senft ees always say: 'Mister Potash and Perlmutter ees nice-a people.' Sure."
"Better than Sammet Brothers?" Harry asked.
Simonetti raised his eyebrows and made a flapping gesture with his right hand.
"A-oh!" he said. "Sammet Brothers, that's all right too. Not too much-a all right, Mr. Baskof, but is preety good people. I am just-a now go to see ees-a lawyer for sign-a da contract."
"Ain't you signed the contract yet?" Morris cried.
"Not-a yet," Simonetti answered. "Just-a now I am going."
"Baskof," Morris urged, "supposing you and me goes together with Mr. Simonetti to the Harlem Winter Garden and talks the thing over."
Simonetti looked amazedly at Baskof.
"Sure," Baskof said. "It ain't too late if he ain't signed the contract."
"What do you mean?" Simonetti asked.
"Why, I mean this, Simonetti," Baskof replied. "Sammet Brothers will give you a contract for two thousand dollars, and Perlmutter here is willing to pay you twenty-five hundred. Ain't that right, Mawruss?"
Morris nodded.
"With privilege to renew it, Mawruss, ain't it?"
Again Morris nodded. "One year renewal," he said.
Simonetti looked earnestly at Morris, who fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and produced a cigar.
"Do you smoke, Mr. Simmons?" he began.
"Simonetti," the designer interrupted, as he took the cigar and bit off the end; "and eef ees too much-a you say Simonetti, call me 'Enery."
When Morris entered his place of business the following morning he appeared to be in no better humour than when he left for home the previous evening.
"Well, Abe," he announced, "I hired a soap powder."
Abe stared at him for a moment.
"What are you talking nonsense, you hired a soap powder?" he exclaimed. "Are youverrückt?"
Morris snapped his fingers.
"A soap powder!" he cried. "Hear me talk! I mean a designer. I hired a designer, Abe, a first-class feller."
"What d'ye mean, a first-class feller?" Abe demanded. "You are leaving here last night half-past six, and here it is only eight o'clock next morning and already you hired a designer which he is a first-class feller. How do you know he is a first-class feller, Mawruss? Did you dream it?"
"No, I didn't dream it, Abe," Morris said as he hung up his hat; "and what is more I want to tell you something. Yesterday you are saying I should go ahead and hire a designer and not bother you in your head, and to-day you are kicking yet. Well, you could kick all you want to, Abe, because if a feller's partner kicksoderhis wife kicks, Abe, he must got to stand for it. But just the same, Abe, this here feller comes to work for us Monday morning, and we got with him a contract, all signed and g'fixed by a lawyer, which he gets from us twenty-five hundred a year for one year, with privilege to renew for another year."
"Twenty-five hundred dollars!" Abe exclaimed. "By a lawyer? What are you talking about, Mawruss?"
At this juncture Morris grew purple with rage.
"Say, lookyhere, Abe," he yelled, "ask me no questions. I am sick and tired of it. You would think if a feller forgets to buy a packet soap powder, y'understand, his wife wouldn't go crazy and ring up the police station yet, on account I am going with Baskof and this here cutter to see a lawyer by the name Sholy, which he lives in my flathouse yet. There we are sitting till twelve o'clock fixing up the contract, and if you don't like it you could lump it. When I come home I got to get Doctor Eichendorfer yet to tend to Minnie. Five dollars that robber soaks me, and he lives in the same house with me. Also this lawyer Sholy charges me also twenty-five dollars for drawing the contract, understand me, which Feldman himself would only charge us fifty. Neighbours them fellers is, Abe! Such neighbours I would expect to got it if I am living next door to Sing Sing prison."
For more than an hour Abe pressed the matter no further, but at length curiosity impelled him to speak. "Say, lookyhere, Mawruss," he began, "couldn't I look at that contract too?"
"Sure you could," Morris replied. "I'm surprised you ain't got no more interest in the matter you didn't ask me before."
Abe grunted and took the contract that Morris handed to him. "This agreement," it ran, "made and entered into between Abraham Potash and Morris Perlmutter, composing the firm of Potash & Perlmutter, of the Borough of Manhattan, City of New York, parties of the first part, and Enrico Simonetti, of the same place, party of the second part, witnesseth—"
At this point Abe dropped the contract.
"Mawruss," he said slowly, "do you mean to told me you are hiring for a designer an Italiener?"
"Sure," Morris replied; "why not?"
"Why not!" Abe bellowed. "Why not! Ain't you and me married men? Ain't we got wives? Ain't you got a child to support as well?"
"What's that got to do with it?" Morris asked.
"What's that got to do with it?" Abe repeated. "I'm surprised to hear you you should talk that way, Mawruss. Supposing it is necessary we should tell such a feller he is coming down lateoderhe is doing something which he shouldn't do, y'understand, then the very first thing you know he sticks into us a knifeund fertig. I suppose, Mawruss, you are figuring that even if you don't carry such good insurance, Mawruss, your wife is young and could easy get married again. But with me is differencely. My wife ain't so young no longer and—"
"Say, lookyhere, Abe," Morris interrupted, "don't talk no more such nonsense to me, because I seen the feller and I am sitting with him last night over three hours. That feller would no more stick into you a knife as I would."
"No?" Abe commented.
"And furthermore, Abe, when you are saying that Italieners stick knives, understand me, you are talking like a greenhorn. Italieners is decent, respectable people like anybody else, Abe, and just because when you are going on the opera a couple Italieners stabs themselves, like I am seeing it last week a show by the name Paliatzki, y'understand, that ain't no sign every Italiener is a stabber, understand me. For that matter, Abe, after this here show Paliatzki comes a whole lot of fellers from Russland on to the stage, which they are dancing so quick I never seen the like, understand me, and you know as well as I do, Abe, we got plenty fellers from Russland working by us here which they could no more dance as they could fly."
Abe shrugged again.
"Never mind, supposing they wouldn't be stabbers even, Mawruss," he continued, "if you got working for you an Italiener which you just broke in good, y'understand, so soon as he saves a couple hundred dollars he right away quits you and goes back to the old country. All them fellers is eating is garlic andLockshen mitholes into it, and you know as well as I do, Mawruss, for two hundred dollars a feller could buy enoughLockshen und Knoblauchto last him for the rest of his natural life. Whereas Mawruss, you take a feller which he is coming over here from Russland, y'understand, and he wouldn't go back to the old country not if you was to make him a present of it free for nothing."
"Is it anything against them Italieners if they save their money, Abe?" Morris asked.
"All right, Mawruss," Abe said, "supposing Italieners is such big savers, understand me, one thing you must anyhow got to admit, Mawruss. You get a couple Italieners working for you, understand me, and from morning till night they never give you a minute's peace. Seemingly they must got to sing. They couldn't help themselves, Mawruss."
"What do we care if he hollers a little something oncet in a while, Abe?" Morris protested. "We could stand it if he turns out some good styles."
"Ifhe turns out good styles is all right, Mawruss," Abe said as he turned away. "Lots of accidents could happen to a feller in the garment business, Mawruss. Burglars could bust into his loft and steal his silk piece goods on him; he could have maybe a fire; he could fall down the elevator shaft and break,Gott soll hüten, his neck. All these things could come to a garment manufacturer, Mawruss; but that his designer should turn out some good styles is an accident which don't happen to one garment manufacturer out of a hundred, Mawruss."
Nevertheless, long before Enrico Simonetti's term of employment had expired Abe was obliged to acknowledge his mistake.
Not only had Enrico proved his efficiency and originality as a designer but he had exercised the utmost discretion in the management of the cutting room. Moreover, he had little taste for music and never so much as whistled a melody during working hours.
"I couldn't make him out at all, Mawruss," Abe declared one morning. "Actually the feller complains to me this morning he couldn't stand that little greenhorn we hired last week on account he smells so from garlic."
"Sure, I know," Morris replied, "and he don't smoke and he don'tshikker, and he tells me yesterday he boards with a family on Second Avenue which all it costs him is four dollars a week. And yet you, Abe, you are kicking because the feller is an Italiener."
"When was I kicking to you the feller is an Italiener?" Abe demanded. "Why, you yourself, Mawruss, always says to me Italieners is no good. If you are telling me oncet you are telling me a hundred times about an Italiener family which they are living on top of you, Mawruss, and, to hear you talk, suchRoshoyimyou wouldn't believe existed at all."
"Sure, I know," Morris admitted, "but there's Italieners and Italieners, Abe; and only last night them people sits up till two o'clock this morningshikkeringand hollering. Not alone the woman hollers, Abe, but a feller sings that big song from Paliatzki till I thought my head would bust. Some one should write to the Board of Health about it, Abe."
"Mytzuris!" Abe exclaimed. "If you got living in the same house with you a lawyer and a doctor, Mawruss, you shouldn't got much trouble getting the Board of Health after them Italieners. And anyhow, Mawruss, if the worser comes to the worst, y'understand, there's one thing you could always do.
"What's that?" Morris asked.
"Move out," Abe replied, as he started for the cutting room.
"Yes, Mawruss," he commented, when he returned five minutes later, "you could knock the Italieners all you want, but you got to admit they ain't throwing their money into the street. Henry is showing me just now a bankbook which in the last nine months he is putting away eighteen hundred dollars."
"That's all right, Abe," Morris said. "If he would be fromunsere Leute, y'understand, instead he is putting the money in savings bank and getting 3 per cent. interest, he would invest it in something else and make it pretty near double itself soon."
"What d'ye mean, 3 per cent. interest?" Abe retorted. "Henry's got his money in a bank which they are paying him 5 per cent. compounded every three months. Henry ain't no fool, Mawruss."
"Five per cent.!" Morris exclaimed. "What for a bank would pay 5 per cent. interest, Abe?"
"I don't know what for a bank pays 5 per cent., Mawruss," Abe replied, "but you could take it from me, Mawruss, the way Sam Feder discounts perfectly good A number one accounts for them depositors of his when they are a little short, Mawruss, not only could the Kosciusko Bank afford to pay five per cent., Mawruss, but they could also give 6 or 7, and still Sam Feder's wife wouldn't got to pawn none of her diamonds."
"Does he deposit his money with Feder?" Morris asked.
"Yow, he deposit his money with Feder, Mawruss!" Abe replied. "He deposits his money with a banker by the name Guy-seppy Scratch-oly."
"Guy-seppy Scratch-oly," Morris repeated. "That's a fine name for a banker, Abe."
"Guy-seppy, that's Italian for Yosef, Mawruss," Abe explained. "And Scratch-oly is an Italian name the same like a feller in Russland would be called Lipschutzky. For that matter, Mawruss, Lipschutzky ain't much of a name for a banker neither."
"No," Morris admitted, "but I'd a whole lot sooner trust my money to a feller by the name LipschutzkyoderFeder, as to one of the Scratchy names, Abe."
"What is the difference what the banker's name is?" Abe rejoined. "Henry says the money is all sent by his bank to a branch they got in the old country.Gott weisswhat that bank couldn't get for its money in the old country, because you know as well as I do, Mawruss, here in New York City some business men is short oncet in a while, understand me, but over in the old country everybody is short all the time. The way banks does business over there, Mawruss, they make Feder's bank look like a Free Loan Association."
"Sure, I know, Abe," Morris said gloomily, "and you mark my words, Abe, so soon as Henry's year is up he will follow his money to the old country."
"You shouldn't worry yourself about that, Mawruss," Abe said confidently. "When a feller's got a contract with a privilege for renewal at two hundred dollars raise, like Henry got it, understand me, he ain't so stuck on going back to the old country. Two hundred dollars is a whole lot of money over there, Mawruss. For two hundred dollars in the old country a—"
"Don't tell me again how muchLockshenmit holes in it a feller could buy in the old country, Abe," Morris interrupted. "There's elegant weather over there and good wine to drink, and places to go and look at which they got mountains twicet as high as the Catskills, with olives and grapes growing on to 'em."
"I was never crazy about olives, Mawruss."
"Me neither," Morris agreed, "but Henry is something else again, and the way that feller is talking to me in the cutting room yesterday, Abe, either he wouldn't be working for us three months from to-day or the steamers stops running to Italy."
"Mawruss," Abe shouted, at ten o'clock one morning in early March, "where was you?"
"Where was I?" Morris repeated. "I was to the court, that's where I was."
"To the court!" Abe exclaimed.
"That's what I said," Morris continued. "We fixed that sucker, me and Sholy and Doctor Eichendorfer and Baskof. We got him for a summons for this afternoon two o'clock he should go to the Jefferson Market Police Court. Till four o'clock this morning them people upstairs sits up hollering andskiddering. Minnie and me we couldn't sleep a wink, and Baskof neither. Steals our servant girl yet. I'll show thatRosher."
Abe glared indignantly at his partner.
"Do you mean to told me, Mawruss," he said, "that you are fooling away your time going on the court because somebody upstairs sings a little something last night?"
"Sings a little something!" Morris cried. "Why, that Italiener hollers Paliatzki till you would think he commits a murder up there."
"Suppose he did, Mawruss, ain't we got no business to go down here? Here we are rushed to death already, and you are fooling away your—"
"Don't say that again, Abe," Morris broke in. "I guess I could take off a couple hours if I want to."
"Sure," Abe replied ironically, "and Henry takes off a couple of hours this lunchtime. He just told me so, Mawruss. He takes off a couple hours on account he is going downtown to draw some money out of the bank and buy his ticket."
"Buy his ticket!" Morris gasped.
"That's right," Abe continued, with forced calmness, "because, Mawruss, they wouldn't let no one travel on a steamer without buying a ticket. People what runs steamers is very funny that way, Mawruss."
Morris grew pale as he removed his coat and hat.
"What's he buying a steamer ticket for?" he asked.
"He didn't tell me exactly, Mawruss," Abe went on, "but I got a sort of an idee he's going back to Italy, Mawruss, and next time, Mawruss, when we hire a designer, understand me, I would do it myself. Also, Mawruss, I would hire a designer which, if he goes back to the old country, y'understand, they would right away take him for a soldier, and then, Mawruss, we wouldn't got to be left without a designer just in the middle of the busy season."
"Did you talk to him, Abe?" Morris inquired timidly. "Maybe we could jolly him into staying."
Abe nodded again.
"Maybe you could jolly a duck not to swim in the water, Mawruss," he cried bitterly.
"That's all right, Abe," Morris retorted. "A duck ain't got no use for a couple of hundred dollars bonus."