garments but he claims to be overstocked at present and I believe him.  I seen some styles what he tries to get rid of it what me & Pincus Vesell made up in small lots way before the Spanish war already.  It is a dead town.  Me and Rosie leave tonight for Pittsburg and we are going to stay with Rosies brother in law Hyman Margolius.  Write us how things is going in the store to the Outlet Auction House Hyman Margolius prop 2132 4 & 6 North Potter Ave Pittsburg Pa.  You should see that Miss Cohen billed them 4022s on date we packed them as Goldman the shipping clerk forgot to give them to Arrow Dispatch when they called.  That ain’t our fault Morris.  Write and tell me how things is going in the store and dont forget to tell Miss Cohen about the bill to S. Lowenstein as above
                                          Yours Truly
A. POTASH.

P. S. How is things in the store?

During the first three days of Abe Potash’s vacation he had traveled by local train one hundred and twenty miles to Dotyville, and unpacked and packed two trunks under the shrill and captious supervision of Mrs. Potash.  Then followed a tiresome journey to Pittsburgh with two changes of cars, and finally, on the morning of the fourth day, at seven-thirty sharp, he accompanied Hyman Margolius to the latter’s place of business.

There he took off his coat and helped Hyman and his staff of assistants to pile up and mark for auction a large consignment of clothing.  After this, he called off the lot numbers while Hyman checked them in a first draft of a printed catalogue, and at one o’clock, with hands and face all grimy from contact with the ill-dyed satinets of which the clothing was manufactured, he partook of a substantial luncheon at Bleistift’s Restaurant and Lunch-Room.

“Well, Abe,” Hyman said, “how do you like the auction business so far as you gone yet?”

“It’s a good, live business, Hymie,” Abe replied; “but, the way it works out, it ain’t always on the square.  A fellow what wants to do his creditors buys goods in New York, we’ll say, for his business in—­Galveston, we’ll say, and then when he gets the goods he don’t even bother to unpack ’em, Hymie, but ships ’em right away to you.  And you examine ’em, and if they’re all O. K., why, you send him a check for about half what it costs to manufacture ’em.  Then he pockets the check, Hymie, and ten days later busts up on the poor sucker what sold him the goods in New York at ninety days.  Ain’t that right, Hymie?”

“Why, that’s the funniest thing you ever seen!” Hyman exclaimed.

“What’s the funniest thing I ever seen, Hymie?”

“You talking about Galveston, for instance.”

Abe turned pale and choked on a piece of rosbraten.

“What d’ye mean?” he gasped.

“Why,” said Hyman, “I just received a consignment of garments from a feller called Lowenstein in Galveston.  He wrote me he was overstocked.”