“Because she lives here in New York with her mother,” Abe explained; “and what chance has a girl got in Buffalo, anyway?  That’s what Max says, and he also told it me that she got a very fine personality, and if we think it over maybe he gives us an introduction to Philip Hahn, of the Flower City Credit Outfitting Company.  That’s a million-dollar concern, Mawruss.  I bet yer they’re rated J to K, first credit, and Philip Hahn’s wife is Miss Kreitmann’s mother’s sister.  Leon Sammet will go crazy if he hears that we sell them people.”

“That’s all right, Abe,” said Morris.  “We ain’t doing business to spite our competitors; we’re doing it to please our customers so that they’ll buy goods from us and maybe they’ll go crazy, too, when they see her face, Abe.”

“Max Fried says she is a good-looker.  Nothing extraordinary, y’understand, but good, snappy stuff and up to date.”

“You talk like she was a garment, Abe,” said Morris.

“Well, you wouldn’t buy no garment, Mawruss, just because some one told you it was good.  Would you?  So, Max says he would bring her around this afternoon, and if we liked her Hahn would stop in and see us later in the day.  He says Hahn picks out never less than a couple of hundred of one style, and also Hahn is a liberal buyer, Mawruss.”

“Of course, Abe,” Morris commenced, “if we’re doing this to oblige Philip Hahn——­”

“We’re doing it to oblige Philip Hahn and Max Fried both, Mawruss,” Abe broke in.  “Max says he ain’t got a minute’s peace since Miss Kreitmann is old enough to get married.”

“So!” Morris cried.  “A matrimonial agency we’re running, Abe.  Is that the idea?”

“The idea is that she should have the opportunity of meeting by us a business man, Mawruss, what can give her a good home and a good living, too.  Max says he is pretty near broke, buying transportation from Buffalo to New York, Mawruss, so as he can bust up love matches between Miss Kreitmann and some good-looking retail salesman, Mawruss, what can dance the waltz A Number One and couldn’t pay rent for light housekeeping on Chrystie Street.”

“Well, Abe,” Morris agreed, with a sigh of resignation, “if we got to hire her as a condition that Philip Hahn gives us a couple of good orders a season, Abe, I’m agreeable.”

“Naturally,” Abe replied, and carefully selecting a slightly-damaged cigar from the M to P first and second credit customers’ box, he fell to assorting the sample line against Philip Hahn’s coming that afternoon.

His task was hardly begun, however, when the store door opened to admit Max Fried and his sister-in-law.  Abe immediately ceased his sample-assorting and walked forward to greet them.

“Hello, Max,” he said.

Max stopped short, and by the simple process of thrusting out his waist-line assumed a dignity befitting the ceremony of introduction.

“Mr. Potash,” he said severely, “this is Miss Gussie Kreitmann, my wife’s sister, what I talked to you about.”