When Mr. Siegmund Lowenstein, proprietor of the O'Gorman-Henderson
Dry-Goods Company of Galveston, Texas, entered Potash & Perlmutter's
show-room, he expected to give only a small order. Mr. Lowenstein
usually transacted his business with Abe Potash, who was rather
conservative in matters of credit extension, more especially since Mr.
Lowenstein was reputed to play auction pinochle with poor judgment and
for high stakes.
Therefore, Mr. Lowenstein intended to buy a few staples, specialties of
Potash & Perlmutter, and to reserve the balance of his spring orders for
other dealers who entertained more liberal credit notions than did Abe
Potash. Much to his gratification, however, he was greeted by Morris
Perlmutter.
"Ah, Mr. Perlmutter," he said; "glad to see you. Is Mr. Potash in?"
"He's home, sick, to-day," Morris replied.
Mr. Lowenstein clucked sympathetically.
"You don't say so," he murmured. "That's too bad. What seems to be the
trouble?"
"He's been feeling mean all the winter," Morris replied. "The doctor
says he needs a rest."
"That's always the way with them hard-working fellers," Mr. Lowenstein
went on. "I'm feeling pretty sick myself, I assure you, Mr. Perlmutter.
I've been working early and late in my store. We never put in such a
season before, and we done a phenomenal holiday business. We took stock
last week and we're quite cleaned out. I bet you we ain't got stuck a
single garment in any line--cloaks, suits, clothing or furs."
"I'm glad to hear it," Morris said.
"And we expect this season will be a crackerjack, too," he continued. "I
had to give a few emergency orders to jobbers down South before I left
Galveston, we had such an early rush of spring trade."
"Is that so?" Morris commented. "I wish we could say the same in New
York."
"You don't tell me!" Mr. Lowenstein rejoined. "Why, I was over by
Garfunkel and Levy just now, and Mr. Levy says he is almost too busy. I
looked over their line and I may place an order with them, although they
ain't got too good an assortment, Mr. Perlmutter."
"Far be it from me to knock a competitor's line, Mr. Lowenstein," Morris
commented, "but I honestly think they get their designers off of Ellis
Island."
"Well," Mr. Lowenstein conceded, "of course I don't say they got so good
an assortment what you have, Mr. Perlmutter, but they got a liberal
credit policy."
"Why, what's the matter with _our_ credit policy?" Morris asked.
"Nothing," Mr. Lowenstein replied. "Only a merchant like me, what wants
to enlarge his business, needs a little better terms than thirty days.
Ain't it? I'm improving my departments all the time, and I got to buy
more fixtures, lay in a better stock and even build a new wing to my
store building. All this costs money, Mr. Perlmutter, as you know, and
contractors must be paid strictly for cash. Under the circumstances, I
need ready money, and, naturally, the house what gives me the most
generous credit gets my biggest order."
"Excuse me for a moment," Morris broke in, "I think I hear the
telephone."
He walked to the rear of the store, where the telephone bell had been
trilling impatiently.
"Hello," he said, taking the receiver off the hook.
"Hello," said a voice from the other end of the line. "Is this Potash &
Perlmutter?"
"It is," said Morris.
"Well, this is Garfunkel & Levy," the voice went on. "We understand Mr.
Lowenstein, of Galveston, is in your store. Will you please and call him
to the 'phone for a minute?"
"This ain't no public pay station," Morris cried. "And besides, Mr.
Lowenstein just left here."
He banged the receiver onto the hook and returned at once to the front
of the store.
"Now, Mr. Lowenstein," he said, "what can I do for you?"
And two hours later Mr. Lowenstein left the store with the duplicate of
a twenty-four-hundred-dollar order in his pocket, deliveries to commence
within five days; terms, ninety days net.
"Well, Abe," Morris said the next day as his partner, Abe Potash,
entered the show-room, "how are you feeling to-day?"
"Mean, Mawruss," Abe replied. "I feel mean. The doctor says I need a
rest. He says I got to go away to the country or I will maybe break
down."
"Is _that_ so?" said Morris, deeply concerned. "Well, then, you'd better
go right away, before you get real serious sick. Why not fix it so you
can go away to-morrow yet?"
"To-morrow!" Abe exclaimed. "It don't go so quick as all that, Mawruss.
You can't believe everything the doctors tell you. I ain't exactly dead
yet, Mawruss. I'm like the feller what everybody says is going to fail,
Mawruss. They give him till after Christmas to bust up, and then he does
a fine holiday trade, and the first thing you know, Mawruss, he's buying
real estate. No, Mawruss, I feel pretty mean, I admit, but I think a
good two-thousand-dollar order would put me all right again, and so long
as we wouldn't have no more trouble with designers, Mawruss, I guess I
would _stay_ right too."
"Well, if that's the case," said Morris, beaming all over, "I guess I
can fix you up. Siegmund Lowenstein, of Galveston, was in here
yesterday, and I sold him a twenty-four-hundred-dollar order, including
them forty-twenty-two's, and you know as well as I do, Abe, them
forty-twenty-two's is stickers. We got 'em in stock now over two months,
ever since Abe Magnus, of Nashville, turned 'em back on us."
Abe's reception of the news was somewhat disappointing to Morris. He
showed no elation, but selected a slightly-damaged cigar from the K. to
O. first and second credit customers' box, and lit it deliberately
before replying.
"How much was that last order he give us, Mawruss?" he asked.
"Four hundred dollars," Morris replied.
"And what terms?" Abe continued.
"Five off, thirty days."
"And what terms did _you_ quote him yesterday?" asked Abe inexorably.
"Ninety days, net," Morris murmured.
Abe puffed vigorously at his cigar, and there was a long and significant
silence.
"I should think, Abe," Morris said at length, "the doctor wouldn't let
you smoke cigars if you was nearly breaking down."
"So long as you sell twenty-four hundred dollars at ninety days to a
crook and a gambler like Siegmund Lowenstein, Mawruss," Abe replied,
"one cigar more or less won't hurt me. If I can stand a piece of news
like that, Mawruss, I guess I can stand anything. Why didn't you give
him thirty days' dating, too, Mawruss?"
At once Morris plunged into a long account of the circumstances
attending the giving of Mr. Lowenstein's order, including the telephone
message from Garfunkel & Levy, and at its conclusion Abe grew somewhat
mollified.
"Well, Mawruss," he said, "we took the order and I suppose we got to
ship it. When you deal with a gambler like Lowenstein you got to take a
gambler's chance. Anyhow, I ain't going to worry about it, Mawruss. Next
week I'm going away for a fortnight."
"Where are you going, Abe?" Morris asked.
"To Dotyville, Pennsylvania," Abe replied. "We leave next Saturday. In
the meantime I ain't going to worry, Mawruss."
"That's right, Abe," said Morris.
"Sure it's right," Abe rejoined. "I'm going to leave _you_ to do the
worrying, and in the meantime I guess I'll look after getting out them
forty-twenty-two's. Them forty-twenty-two's--them plum-color Empires was
_your_ idee, Mawruss. You said they'd make a hit with the Southern
trade, Mawruss, and I hope they do, Mawruss, for, if they don't, there
ain't much chance of our getting paid for them."
A week later Abe Potash and his wife left for Dotyville, Pennsylvania,
and two days afterward Morris received the following letter:
DOTY'S UNION HOUSE,
Dotyville, Pennsylvania.
_Dear Morris:_
How is things in the store? We got here the day before yesterday
and I have got enough already. It is a dead town. The food what
they give us reminds me when Pincus Vesell & me was partners
together as new beginners and I was making southern trips by
dollar and a half a day houses American plan. The man Doty what
keeps the hotel also runs the general store also. He says a
fellow by the name of Levy used to run it but he couldnt make it
go; he made a failure of it. I tried to sell him a few garments
but he claims to be overstocked at present and I believe him. I
seen some styles what he tries to get rid of it what me & Pincus
Vesell made up in small lots way before the Spanish war already.
It is a dead town. Me and Rosie leave tonight for Pittsburg and
we are going to stay with Rosies brother in law Hyman Margolius.
Write us how things is going in the store to the Outlet Auction
House Hyman Margolius prop 2132 4 & 6 North Potter Ave Pittsburg
Pa. You should see that Miss Cohen billed them 4022s on date we
packed them as Goldman the shipping clerk forgot to give them
to Arrow Dispatch when they called. That ain't our fault Morris.
Write and tell me how things is going in the store and dont
forget to tell Miss Cohen about the bill to S. Lowenstein
as above
Yours Truly
A. POTASH.
P. S. How is things in the store?
During the first three days of Abe Potash's vacation he had traveled by
local train one hundred and twenty miles to Dotyville, and unpacked and
packed two trunks under the shrill and captious supervision of Mrs.
Potash. Then followed a tiresome journey to Pittsburgh with two changes
of cars, and finally, on the morning of the fourth day, at seven-thirty
sharp, he accompanied Hyman Margolius to the latter's place of business.
There he took off his coat and helped Hyman and his staff of assistants
to pile up and mark for auction a large consignment of clothing. After
this, he called off the lot numbers while Hyman checked them in a first
draft of a printed catalogue, and at one o'clock, with hands and face
all grimy from contact with the ill-dyed satinets of which the clothing
was manufactured, he partook of a substantial luncheon at Bleistift's
Restaurant and Lunch-Room.
"Well, Abe," Hyman said, "how do you like the auction business so far as
you gone yet?"
"It's a good, live business, Hymie," Abe replied; "but, the way it works
out, it ain't always on the square. A fellow what wants to do his
creditors buys goods in New York, we'll say, for his business
in--Galveston, we'll say, and then when he gets the goods he don't even
bother to unpack 'em, Hymie, but ships 'em right away to you. And you
examine 'em, and if they're all O. K., why, you send him a check for
about half what it costs to manufacture 'em. Then he pockets the check,
Hymie, and ten days later busts up on the poor sucker what sold him the
goods in New York at ninety days. Ain't that right, Hymie?"
"Why, that's the funniest thing you ever seen!" Hyman exclaimed.
"What's the funniest thing I ever seen, Hymie?"
"You talking about Galveston, for instance."
Abe turned pale and choked on a piece of _rosbraten_.
"What d'ye mean?" he gasped.
"Why," said Hyman, "I just received a consignment of garments from a
feller called Lowenstein in Galveston. He wrote me he was overstocked."
"Overstocked?" Abe cried. "Overstocked? What color was them garments?"
"Why, they was a kind of plum color," said Hyman.
Abe put his hand to his throat and eased his collar.
"And did you send him a check for 'em yet?" he croaked.
"Not yet," said Hyman.
Abe grabbed him by the collar.
"Come!" he said. "Come quick by a lawyer!"
"What for?" Hyman asked. "You're pulling that coat all out of shape
yet."
"I'll buy you another one," Abe cried. "Them plum-color garments is
mine, and I want to get 'em back."
Hyman paid the bill, and on their way down the street they passed a
telegraph office.
"Wait," Abe cried, "I must send Mawruss a wire."
He entered and seized a telegraph form, which he addressed to Potash &
Perlmutter.
"Don't ship no more goods to Lowenstein, Morris. Will explain by letter
to-night," he wrote.
"Now, Hymie," he said after he had paid for the dispatch, "we go by your
lawyer."
Five minutes later they were closeted with Max Marcus, senior member of
the firm of Marcus, Weinschenck & Grab, and a lodge brother of Hymie
Margolius. Max made a specialty of amputation cases. He was accustomed
to cashing missing arms and legs at a thousand dollars apiece for the
victims of rolling-mill and railway accidents, and when the sympathetic
jury brought in their generous verdict Max paid the expert witnesses and
pocketed the net proceeds. These rarely fell below five thousand
dollars.
"Sit down, Hymie. Glad to see you, Mr. Potash," Max said, stroking a
small gray mustache with a five-carat diamond ring. "What can I do for
_you_?"
"I got some goods belonging to Mr. Potash what a fellow called
Lowenstein in Galveston, Texas, shipped me," said Hymie, "and Mr.
Potash wants to get 'em back."
"Replevin, hey?" Max said. "That's a little out of my line, but I guess
I can fix you up." He rang for a stenographer. "Take this down," he said
to her, and turned to Abe Potash. "Now, tell us the facts."
Abe recounted the tale Mr. Lowenstein had related to Morris Perlmutter,
by which Lowenstein made it appear that he was completely out of stock.
Next, Hyman Margolius produced Siegmund Lowenstein's letter which
declared that Lowenstein was disposing of the Empire cloaks because he
was overstocked.
"S'enough," Max declared. "Tell, Mr. Weinschenck to work it up into an
affidavit," he continued to the stenographer, "and bring us in a jurat."
A moment later she returned with a sheet of legal cap, on the top of
which was typewritten: "Sworn to before me this first day of April,
1904."
"Sign opposite the brace," said Max, pushing the paper at Abe, and Abe
scrawled his name where indicated.
"Now, hold up your right hand," said Max, and Abe obeyed.
"Do you solemnly swear that the affidavit subscribed by you is true?"
Max went on.
"What affidavit?" Abe asked.
"Why, the one Weinschenck is going to draw when he comes back from
lunch, of course," Max replied.
"Sure it's true," said Abe.
"All right," Max concluded briskly.
"Now give me a check for fifty dollars for my fees, five dollars for a
surety company bond, and five dollars sheriff's fees, and I'll get out a
replevin order on the strength of that affidavit in half an hour, and
have a deputy around to the store at three o'clock to transfer the goods
from Hymie to you."
"Sixty dollars is pretty high for a little thing like that, ain't it,
Max?" said Hymie.
"High?" Max cried indignantly. "High? Why, if you wasn't a lodge brother
of mine, Hymie, I wouldn't have stirred a hand for less than a hundred."
Thus rebuked, Abe paid over the sixty dollars, and Hymie and he went
back to the store. Precisely at three a deputy sheriff entered the front
door and flashed a gold badge as big as a dinner-plate. His stay was
brief, and in five minutes he had relieved Abe of all his spare cigars
and departed, leaving only a certified copy of the replevin order and a
strong smell of whisky to signalize the transfer of the Empire gowns
from Hymie to Abe.
Hardly had he banged the door behind him when a messenger boy entered
and handed a telegram to Abe.
"Ain't shipped no goods but the 4022's," it read. "Have wired Lowenstein
to return the 4022s. MORRIS."
"Fine! Fine!" Abe exclaimed. He tipped the boy a dime and was about to
acquaint Hyman with the good news, when another messenger boy entered
and delivered a second telegram to Abe. It read as follows:
"Lowenstein wires he insists on delivery entire order complete,
otherwise he will sue. What shall I wire him? MORRIS."
Abe seized his hat and dashed down the street to the telegraph office.
"Gimme a blank," he said to the operator, who handed him a whole padful.
For the next twenty minutes Abe scribbled and tore up by turns until he
finally evolved a satisfactory missive. This he handed to the operator,
who read it with a broad grin and passed it back at once.
"Wot d'ye take me for?" he said. "A bum? Dere's ladies in de main
office."
Abe glared at the operator and began again.
"Here," he said to the operator after another quarter of an hour of
scribbling and tearing up, "send this."
It was in the following form:
_Don't send no more goods to Lowenstein
" " " " wires " nobody_
"Fourteen words," the operator said. "Fifty-four cents."
"What's that?" Abe cried. "What yer trying to do? Make money on me? That
ain't no fourteen words. That's _nine_ words."
"It is, hey?" the operator rejoined. "Quit yer kiddin'. Dat's fourteen
words. Ditto marks don't go, see?"
"You're a fresh young feller," said Abe, paying over fifty-four cents,
"and I got a good mind to report you to the head office."
The operator laughed raucously.
"G'wan!" he said. "Beat it, or I'll sick de cops onter yer. It's agin
the law to cuss in Pittsburgh, even by telegraft."
When Abe returned to the Outlet Auction House's store Hyman was busy
stacking up the plum-color gowns in piles convenient for shipping.
"Well, Abe," he said, "I thought you was here for a vacation. You're
doing some pretty tall hustling for a sick man, I must say."
"I'll tell you the truth, Hymie," Abe replied, "I ain't got no time to
be sick. It ain't half-past three yet, and I guess I'll take a couple of
them garments and see what I can do with the jobbing and retail trade in
this here town."
"Don't you think you'd better take it easy for a while, Abe?" Hyman
suggested.
"I am taking it easy," said Abe. "So long as I ain't working I'm
resting, ain't it, Hymie? And you know as well as I do, Hymie, selling
goods never was work to me. It's a pleasure, Hymie, I assure you."
He placed two of the plum-colored Empire gowns under his arm, and
thrusting his hat firmly on the back of his head made straight for the
dry-goods district. Two hours later he returned, wearing a broad smile
that threatened to engulf his stubby black mustache between his nose and
his chin.
"Hymie," he said, "I'm sorry I got to disturb that nice pile you made of
them garments. I'll get right to work myself and assort the sizes."
"Why, what's the trouble now, Abe?" Hyman asked.
"I disposed of 'em, Hymie," Abe replied. "Two hundred to Hamburg and
Weiss. Three hundred to the Capitol Credit Outfitting Company, and five
hundred to Feinroth and Pearl."
"Hold on there, Abe!" Hymie exclaimed. "You only got six hundred, and
you sold a thousand garments."
"I know, Hymie," said Abe, "but I'm going home to-morrow, and I got a
month in which to ship the balance."
"Going home?" Hyman cried.
"Sure," said Abe. "I had a good long vacation, and now I got to get down
to business."
One morning, two weeks later, Abe sat with his feet cocked up on his
desk in the show-room of Potash & Perlmutter's spacious cloak and suit
establishment. Between his teeth he held a fine Pittsburgh cheroot at an
angle of about ninety-five degrees to his protruding under-lip, and he
perused with relish the business-trouble column of the Daily Cloak and
Suit Record.
"Now, what do you think of that?" he exclaimed.
"What do I think of what, Abe?" Morris inquired.
For answer Abe thrust the paper toward his partner with one hand, and
indicated a scare headline with the other.
"Fraudulent Bankruptcy in Galveston," it read. "A petition in bankruptcy
was filed yesterday against Siegmund Lowenstein, doing business as the
O'Gorman-Henderson Dry-Goods Company, in Galveston, Texas. When the
Federal receiver took charge of the bankrupt's premises they were
apparently swept clean of stock and fixtures. It is understood that
Lowenstein has fled to Matamoros, Mexico, where his wife preceded him
some two weeks ago. The liabilities are estimated at fifty thousand
dollars, and the only asset is the store building, which is valued at
ten thousand dollars and is subject to mortgages aggregating about the
same amount. The majority of the creditors are in New York City and
Boston."
Morris returned the paper to his partner without comment.
"You see, Mawruss," said Abe, as he lit a fresh cheroot. "Sometimes it
pays to be sick. Ain't it?"