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,
we _got_ to 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 give _me_ such a high-price
present when _I_ get 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 the _Daily 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.
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.
GENTS:
Your shipment of the 5th is to hand, and in reply would say
that we are returning it _via_ Blue 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,
THE ADVANCE CREDIT CLOTHING COMPANY,
Per T. B.
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!"
CHAPTER NINE
FIRING MISS COHEN
"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 married _right_!"
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 of _that_?" 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 a _millionaire_, 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."
"_Lose_ her! 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 congradulate _me_, hey?" he said, with slow and ironic emphasis.
"Mawruss Perlmutter _also_ congradulates me--what?" He fixed the unhappy
Morris with a terrible glare. "Don't congradulate _me_," 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!"
"_Mister_ Cohen," Morris protested, "you'll make yourself sick."
"I'll make _you_ sick!" Cohen rejoined. "I'll make for you a blue eye,
too. _Five thousand dollars_ I got to give her!"
Abe whistled involuntarily.
"I should think two thousand would be plenty," he suggested.