“And so I says to him,” Pasinsky concluded, “‘Rudie, you are all right,’ I says, ‘but you can’t con me.’”

He looked from Abe to Morris and beamed with satisfaction.  They were in a condition of partial hypnotism, which became complete after Pasinsky had concluded a ten-minutes’ discourse on cloak and suit affairs.  He spoke with a fluency and emphasis that left Abe and Morris literally gasping like landed fish, although, to be sure, the manner of his discourse far outshone the matter.

But his auditors were much too dazed to be critical.  They were cognizant of only one circumstance:  If this huge personage with his wonderful magnetism and address couldn’t sell goods, nobody could.

Pasinsky rose to his feet.  He was six feet in height, and weighed over two hundred pounds.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, towering over his proposed employers, “think it over and see if you want me.  I’ll be back at noon.”

“Hold on a minute,” Abe cried.  “You ain’t told us nothing about who you worked for last.  What were all them references you was telling us about?”

Pasinsky regarded Abe with a smile of amusement.

“I’ll tell you, Mr. Potash, it’s like this,” he explained.  “Of course you want to know who I worked for and all about it.”

Abe nodded.

“But the way I feel about it,” Marks Pasinsky went on, “is that if you advance my expenses for two weeks, understand me, and I go out with your sample line, understand me, if you don’t owe me a thousand dollars commissions at the end of that time, then I don’t want to work for you at all.”

Morris’ jaw dropped and he wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead.

“But who did you sell goods for?” Abe insisted.

Marks Pasinsky bent down and placed his hand on Abe’s shoulder.

“B.  Gans,” he whispered.

“Let me in on this, too, Abe,” Morris exclaimed.

“He says he worked for B. Gans,” Abe replied.

“That’s an A Number One concern, Abe,” Morris said.

“A A Number One,” Pasinsky corrected.  “B.  Gans ain’t got a garment in his entire line that retails for less than a hundred dollars.”

“Well, we ain’t so tony as all that,” Morris commented.  “We got it one or two garments, Mr. Pasinsky—­just one or two, y’understand—­which retails for ninety-nine dollars and ninety-eight cents, y’understand.  So, naturally, you couldn’t expect to sell the same class of trade for us as you sold it for B. Gans.”

“Naturally,” Pasinsky agreed loftily, “but when a salesman is a salesman, Mr. Perlmutter, he ain’t content to sell a line of goods which sells themselves, so to speak, like B. Gans’ line.  He wants to handle such a line like you got it, Mr. Perlmutter, which is got to be pushed and pushed good and plenty.  If I wouldn’t handle an inferior line oncet in a while, Mr. Perlmutter, I would quick get out of practice.”