“If silk piece goods is low or middling, Mr. Sheitlis,” Abe replied sadly, “there is a good deal in what you say.  But silk is high this year, Mr. Sheitlis, so high you wouldn’t believe me if I tell you we got to pay twicet as much this year as three years ago already.”

Mr. Sheitlis clucked sympathetically.

“And if we charge the retailer twicet as much for a garment next year what he pays three years ago already, Mr. Sheitlis,” Abe went on, “we won’t do no business.  Ain’t it?  So we got to cut our profits, and that’s the way it goes in the cloak and suit business.  You don’t know where you are at no more than when you got stocks from stock exchanges.”

“Well, Mr. Potash,” Sheitlis replied encouragingly, “next season is next season, but now is this season, and from the prices what you quoted it me, Mr. Potash, you ain’t going to the poorhouse just yet a while.”

“I only hope it that you make more profit on the stock than we make it on the order you just give us,” Abe rejoined as he shook his customer’s hand in token of farewell.  “Good-by, Mr. Sheitlis, and as soon as I get back in New York I’ll let you know all about it.”

Two days after Abe’s return to New York he sat in Potash & Perlmutter’s show-room, going over next year’s models as published in the Daily Cloak and Suit Record.  His partner, Morris Perlmutter, puffed disconsolately at a cigar which a competitor had given him in exchange for credit information.

“Them cigars what Klinger & Klein hands out,” he said to his partner, “has asbestos wrappers and excelsior fillers, I bet yer.  I’d as lief smoke a kerosene lamp.”

“You got your worries, Mawruss,” Abe replied.  “Just look at them next year’s models, Mawruss, and a little thing like cigars wouldn’t trouble you at all.  Silk, soutache and buttons they got it, Mawruss.  I guess pretty soon them Paris people will be getting out garments trimmed with solitaire diamonds.”

Morris seized the paper and examined the half-tone cuts with a critical eye.

“You’re right, Abe,” he said.  “We’ll have our troubles next season, but we take our profit on silk goods, Abe, the same as we do on cotton goods.”

Abe was about to retort when a wave of recollection came over him, and he clutched wildly at his breast pocket.

“Ho-ly smokes!” he cried.  “I forgot all about it.”

“Forgot all about what?” Morris asked.

“B.  Sheitlis, of the Suffolk Credit Outfitting Company,” Abe replied.  “He give me a stock in Pittsburg last week, and I forgot all about it.”

“A stock!” Morris exclaimed.  “What for a stock?”

“A stock from the stock exchange,” Abe replied; “a stock from gold and silver mines.  He wanted me I should do it a favor for him and see a stock broker here and sell it for him.”

“Well, that’s pretty easy,” Morris rejoined.  “There’s lots of stock brokers in New York, Abe.  There’s pretty near as many stock brokers as there is suckers, Abe.”