The operator laughed raucously.

“G’wan!” he said.  “Beat it, or I’ll sick de cops onter yer.  It’s agin the law to cuss in Pittsburgh, even by telegraft.”

When Abe returned to the Outlet Auction House’s store Hyman was busy stacking up the plum-color gowns in piles convenient for shipping.

“Well, Abe,” he said, “I thought you was here for a vacation.  You’re doing some pretty tall hustling for a sick man, I must say.”

“I’ll tell you the truth, Hymie,” Abe replied, “I ain’t got no time to be sick.  It ain’t half-past three yet, and I guess I’ll take a couple of them garments and see what I can do with the jobbing and retail trade in this here town.”

“Don’t you think you’d better take it easy for a while, Abe?” Hyman suggested.

“I am taking it easy,” said Abe.  “So long as I ain’t working I’m resting, ain’t it, Hymie?  And you know as well as I do, Hymie, selling goods never was work to me.  It’s a pleasure, Hymie, I assure you.”

He placed two of the plum-colored Empire gowns under his arm, and thrusting his hat firmly on the back of his head made straight for the dry-goods district.  Two hours later he returned, wearing a broad smile that threatened to engulf his stubby black mustache between his nose and his chin.

“Hymie,” he said, “I’m sorry I got to disturb that nice pile you made of them garments.  I’ll get right to work myself and assort the sizes.”

“Why, what’s the trouble now, Abe?” Hyman asked.

“I disposed of ’em, Hymie,” Abe replied.  “Two hundred to Hamburg and Weiss.  Three hundred to the Capitol Credit Outfitting Company, and five hundred to Feinroth and Pearl.”

“Hold on there, Abe!” Hymie exclaimed.  “You only got six hundred, and you sold a thousand garments.”

“I know, Hymie,” said Abe, “but I’m going home to-morrow, and I got a month in which to ship the balance.”

“Going home?” Hyman cried.

“Sure,” said Abe.  “I had a good long vacation, and now I got to get down to business.”

One morning, two weeks later, Abe sat with his feet cocked up on his desk in the show-room of Potash & Perlmutter’s spacious cloak and suit establishment.  Between his teeth he held a fine Pittsburgh cheroot at an angle of about ninety-five degrees to his protruding under-lip, and he perused with relish the business-trouble column of the Daily Cloak and Suit Record.

“Now, what do you think of that?” he exclaimed.

“What do I think of what, Abe?” Morris inquired.

For answer Abe thrust the paper toward his partner with one hand, and indicated a scare headline with the other.