“What are you talking about?” Feinholz shouted.  “Them goods was all right and the sample’s all right, too.  All I want now is you should ship ’em right away.  I can sell the lot this afternoon if you only get ’em up to my store in time.”

Morris waved his hand deprecatingly.

“S’enough, Feinholz,” he said; “you got as much show of getting them goods as though you never ordered ’em.”

“Why not?” Feinholz cried.

“Because them goods got burned up on our freight elevator this morning,” Morris replied.

“What!” Feinholz gasped.

“That’s what I said,” Morris concluded; “and if you excuse me I got some business to attend to.”

Feinholz turned and almost staggered from the store, while Morris joined his partner and Sam Feder in the firm’s office.  Feder had overheard the entire conversation and greeted Morris with a smile.

“Well, Mawruss,” he said, “it serves that sucker right.  A feller what confesses right up and down that the goods was all right and then he fires them back at you just because the weather was rotten ought to be sued yet.”

“What do we care?” Abe replied.  “We got ’em insured, and so long as we get our money out of ’em we would rather not be bothered with him.”

“Did you have any other damages, boys?” Feder asked, with a solicitude engendered of a ten-thousand-dollar accommodation to Potash & Perlmutter’s debit on the books of the Kosciusko Bank.

“Otherwise, everything is O. K.,” Morris replied cheerfully.  Together they conducted Feder on a tour of their premises and, after he was quite reassured, they presented him with a good cigar and ushered him into the elevator.

“I guess you put your foot in it with Feinholz, Mawruss,” Abe said after Feder had departed.  “How can we go to that kid nephew of his now and ask him to adjust the loss, Mawruss?”

Morris arched his eyebrows and stared at his partner.

“What’s the matter with you, anyway, Abe?” he asked.  “Ain’t J. Blaustein good enough for you?  Ain’t J. Blaustein always done it our insurance business up to now all O. K., Abe?  And now that we got it our very first fire, why should you want to throw Blaustein down?”

Abe put on his hat thoroughly abashed.

“I thought we got to get Rudy Feinholz to adjust it the loss,” he said.  “Otherwise, I wouldn’t of suggested it.  But, anyway, I will go right down to Blaustein and see what he says.”

Morris jumped to his feet.

“Wait,” he said; “I’ll go with you.”

Half an hour afterward Abe and Morris were seated in J. Blaustein’s office on Pine Street, recounting the details of the fire.

“How many garments was there?” Blaustein asked.

“Forty-eight, and we figured it up the loss at twelve-fifty apiece,” Morris explained.  “That’s what we billed ’em to Feinholz for.”

Blaustein frowned.

“But look a-here, Perlmutter,” he said:  “them insurance companies won’t pay you what you were going to sell them garments for.  They’ll only pay you what they cost to make up.  They’ll figure it:  so much cloth—­say, fifty dollars; so much trimmings—­say, forty dollars; so much labor—­say, thirty dollars; and that’s the way it goes.”