“Is that so?” Leon rejoined.  “Maybe M. Garfunkel was an old customer of yours, too, Abe.”

“M.  Garfunkel?” Abe cried.  “Was M. Garfunkel the other?”

“He certainly was,” Leon boasted.  “We shipped him three thousand dollars.  One of our best customers, Abe.  Always pays to the day.”

For the remainder of the subway journey Abe was quite unresponsive to Leon’s jibes, a condition which Leon attributed to chagrin, and as they parted at Canal Street Leon could not forbear a final gloat.

“I suppose, Abe, M. Garfunkel does too cheap a class of trade to suit you, also.  Ain’t it?” he said.

Abe made no reply, and as he walked south toward White Street Max Lapidus, of Lapidus & Elenbogen, another and a smaller competitor, bumped into him.

“Hallo, Abe,” Max said.  “What’s that Leon Sammet was saying just now about M. Garfunkel?”

“Oh, M. Garfunkel is a good customer of his,” Abe replied cautiously; “so he claims.”

“Don’t you believe it,” said Max.  “M.  Garfunkel told me himself he used to do some business with Sammet Brothers, but he don’t do it no more.  We done a big business with M. Garfunkel ourselves.”

“So?” Abe commented.

“We sold him a couple of thousand dollars at ninety days last week,” Lapidus went on.  “He’s elegant pay, Abe.  We sold him a good-size order every couple of months this season, and he pays prompt to the day.  Once he discounted his bill.”

“Is that so?” Abe said, as they reached the front of Potash & Perlmutter’s store.  “Glad to hear M. Garfunkel is so busy.  Good-morning, Max.”

Morris Perlmutter met him at the door.

“Hallo, Abe,” he cried.  “What’s the matter?  You look pale.  Is Rosie worse?”

Abe shook his head.

“Mawruss,” he said, “did you ship them goods to M. Garfunkel yet?”

“They’ll be out in ten minutes,” Morris replied.

“Hold ’em for a while till I telephone over to Klinger & Klein,” Abe said.

“What you looking for, Abe?” Morris asked.  “More information?  You know as well as I do, Abe, that Klinger & Klein is so conservative they wouldn’t sell Andrew Carnegie unless they got a certified check in advance.”

“That’s all right, Mawruss,” Abe rejoined.  “Maybe they wouldn’t sell Andrew Carnegie, but if I ain’t mistaken they did sell M. Garfunkel.  Everybody sold him, even Lapidus & Elenbogen.  So I guess I’ll telephone ’em.”

“Well, wait a bit, Abe,” Morris cried.  “My Minnie’s girl Lina is here with her cousin.  I brought ’em down this morning so you could talk to her yourself.”

“All right,” Abe replied.  “Tell ’em to come into the show-room.”

A moment later Lina and her cousin Anna entered the show-room.  Both were arrayed in Potash & Perlmutter’s style forty-twenty-two, but while Lina wore a green hat approximating the hue of early spring foliage, Anna’s head-covering was yellow with just a few crimson-lake roses—­about eight large ones—­on the side.