“I ain’t worrying, Mawruss,” Abe replied.  “He ain’t going to let us keep them diamonds for a thousand dollars, Mawruss.  They’re worth a whole lot more as that, Mawruss.”

“I don’t know how much they’re worth, Abe,” Morris grunted, putting on his hat, “but one thing I do know; I’m going across the street to get a shave; and then I’m going right down to Sig Pollak on Maiden Lane, Abe, and I’ll find out just how much they are worth.”

A moment later he descended the basement steps into the barber-shop under Wasserbauer’s Cafe and Restaurant.

“Hallo, Mawruss,” a voice cried from the proprietor’s chair.  “Ain’t it a hot weather?”

It was Sam Feder, vice-president of the Kosciusko Bank, who spoke.  He was midway in the divided enjoyment of a shampoo and a large black cigar, while an electric fan oscillated over his head.

“I bet yer it’s hot, Mr. Feder,” Morris agreed, taking off his coat.

“Why don’t you take your vest off, too, Mawruss?” Sam Feder suggested.

“That’s a good idee,” Morris replied, peeling off his waistcoat.  He hung it next to his coat and relapsed with a sigh into the nearest vacant chair.

“Just once around, Phil,” he said to the barber, and closed his eyes for a short nap.

When he woke up ten minutes later Phil was spraying him with witch-hazel while the proprietor stood idly in front of the mirror and curled his flowing black mustache.

“Don’t take it so particular, Phil,” Morris enjoined.  “I ain’t got it all day to sit here in this chair.”

“All right, Mr. Perlmutter, all right,” Phil cried, and in less than three minutes, powdered, oiled and combed, Morris climbed out of the chair.  His coat was in waiting, held by a diminutive Italian brushboy, but Morris waved his hand impatiently.

“My vest,” he demanded.  “I don’t put my coat on under my vest.”

The brushboy turned to the vacant row of hooks.

“No gotta da vest,” he said.

“What!” Morris gasped.

“You didn’t have no vest on, did you, Mr. Perlmutter?” the proprietor asked.

“Sure I had a vest,” Morris cried.  “Where is it?”

On the wall hung a sign which advised customers to check their clothing with the cashier or no responsibility would be assumed by the management, and it was to this notice that the proprietor pointed before answering.

“I guess somebody must have pinched it,” he replied nonchalantly.

It was not until two hours after the disappearance of his waistcoat that Morris returned to the store.  In the meantime he had been to police headquarters and had inserted an advertisement in three daily newspapers.  Moreover he had consulted a lawyer, the eminent Henry D. Feldman, and had received no consolation either on the score of the barber’s liability to Potash & Perlmutter or of his own liability to Kotzen.

“Well, Mawruss,” Abe said, “how much are them diamonds worth?”