“Do I know him, too?” Abe almost shrieked.  “A question!  Ain’t he selling goods for me?”

“Is he?” Kuhner said.

“Is he!” Abe cried.  “Why, you don’t mean to tell me that feller ain’t been in here yet?”

“Sure he was in here,” Kuhner replied, “but he didn’t say nothing about selling goods for you.  In fact, he got a fine order from me, Abe, for a concern which I never done business with before.  People by the name Sammet Brothers.  What’s the matter, Abe?  Are you sick?”

Abe gurgled once or twice and clutched at his collar.

“Did you got the samples here what he shows you?” he managed to gasp.

“Why, Abe, what’s troubling you?” Kuhner said.  “A sick man like you shouldn’t be attending to business at all.”

“Never mind me,” Abe cried.  “What about them samples, Kuhner?”

“He left some samples with me, and I was to ship ’em to Sammet Brothers.”

“Did you ship ’em yet?” Abe exclaimed.

“Why, what’s the matter, Abe?” Kuhner commenced soothingly.

“The matter is,” Abe shouted, “them samples is my samples, and there’s some monkey business here.”

“Monkey business!” Kuhner said.  “What sort of monkey business?”

“I don’t know,” Abe replied, “but I’m going to find out right away.  Promise me you wouldn’t ship them samples till I come back.”

“Sure I will promise you, Abe,” Kuhner declared.  “When will you be back?”

“To-morrow morning some time,” Abe concluded as he rose to leave.  “I got to see a lawyer and make this here feller Pasinsky arrested.”

“Don’t do nothing rash, Abe,” Kuhner advised.

“I won’t do nothing rash,” Abe promised.  “I’ll kill him, that’s what I’ll do.”

He took the stairs three at a jump and fairly ran to the dry-goods store of the Arcade Mercantile Company.

“Mr. Prosnauer,” he cried as he burst into Prosnauer’s office in the cloak department, “my name is Mr. Potash, of Potash & Perlmutter, from New York.  Did you seen it my salesman, Marks Pasinsky?”

“Sit down, Mr. Potash,” Prosnauer said, “and don’t excite yourself.”

“I ain’t exciting myself,” Abe exclaimed.  “I don’t got to excite myself, Mr. Prosnauer.  I am excited enough already when I think to myself that that lowlife Pasinsky takes my samples out of my store and comes here with my money and gets an order from you for four thousand dollars for Klinger & Klein.”

“Not so fast, Mr. Potash,” Prosnauer began.  “I’ve known Marks Pasinsky for a number of years.  He and I play auction pinochle together every Saturday night when he is in Chicago, and——­”

“Auction pinochle!” Abe interrupted, throwing up his hands. “Das fehlt nur noch!”

“As I was saying, Mr. Potash,” Prosnauer went on with a withering glance at Abe, “those samples are outside, and Pasinsky has asked me to ship them to Klinger & Klein, and——­”