Immediately competition became fast and furious, and Abe entered into it with a zest and excitement that completely eclipsed all thought of stock exchanges or copper shares.  The bids rose by leaps and bounds, and when, half an hour later, Abe emerged from the fray his collar was melted to the consistency of a pocket handkerchief, but the light of victory shone through his perspiration.  He was the purchaser of the entire lot, and by token of his ownership he indorsed the twenty-five-hundred-dollar check to the order of Hill, Arkwright & Thompson.

The glow of battle continued with Abe until he reached the show-room of his own place of business at two o’clock.

“Well, Abe,” Morris cried, “did you buy the stock?”

“Huh?” Abe exclaimed, and then, for the first time since he saw the silk foulards, he remembered Interstate Copper.

“I was to Wasserbauer’s Restaurant for lunch,” Morris continued, “and in the cafe I seen that thing what the baseball comes out of it, Abe.”

“The tickler,” Abe croaked.

“That’s it,” Morris went on.  “Also, Sol Klinger was looking at it, and he told me Interstate Copper was up to three already.”

Abe sat down in a chair and passed his hand over his forehead.

“That’s the one time when you give it us good advice, Abe,” said Morris.  “Sol says we may make it three thousand dollars yet.”

Abe nodded.  He licked his dry lips and essayed to speak, but the words of confession would not come.

“It was a lucky day for us, Abe, when you seen B. Sheitlis,” Morris continued.  “Of course, I ain’t saying it was all luck, Abe, because it wasn’t.  If you hadn’t seen the opportunity, Abe, and practically made me go into it, I wouldn’t of done nothing, Abe.”

Abe nodded again.  If the guilt he felt inwardly had expressed itself in his face there would have been no need of confession.  At length he braced himself to tell it all; but just as he cleared his throat by way of prelude Morris was summoned to the cutting-room and remained there until closing-time.  Thus, when Abe went home his secret remained locked up within his breast, nor did he find it a comfortable burden, for when he looked at the quotations of curb securities in the evening paper he found that Interstate Copper had closed at four and a half, after a total day’s business of sixty thousand shares.

The next morning Abe reached his store more than two hours after his usual hour.  He had rolled on his pillow all night, and it was almost day before he could sleep.

“Why, Abe,” Morris cried when he saw him, “you look sick.  What’s the matter?”

“I feel mean, Mawruss,” Abe replied.  “I guess I eat something what disagrees with me.”

Ordinarily, Morris would have made rejoinder to the effect that when a man reached Abe’s age he ought to know enough to take care of his stomach; but Morris had devoted himself to the financial column of a morning newspaper on his way downtown, and his feelings toward his partner were mollified in proportion.