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