LITMIR.BIZ

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don't know how much you paid for it, but if three hundred of these here—now—francs would be any inducement I'd like to buy it from you. Of course I wouldn't ask you to take it off right now, but if you would leave it at the clerk's desk here I could call for it in half an hour."

      The young lady made no reply, instead she threw back her head and laughed heartily.

      "It ain't no joke, lady," Abe continued as he laid three flimsy notes of the Bank of France in her lap. "That's as good as American greenbacks."

      The young lady ceased laughing, and for a minute, hesitated between indignation and renewed mirth, but at last her sense of humour conquered.

      "Very well," she said; "stay here for a few minutes."

      Half an hour later she returned with the dress wrapped up in a paper parcel.

      "How did you know I wouldn't go off with the money, dress and all?" she asked as Abe seized the package.

      "I took a chance, lady," he said; "like you are doing about the money which I give you being good."

      "Have no scruples on that score," the young lady replied. "I had it examined at the clerk's office just now."

      When M. Adolphe Kaufmann-Levi bade farewell to Moe, Abe, Leon, and Hymie Salzman, at the Gare St. Lazare, he uttered words of encouragement and cheer which failed to justify themselves after the four travellers' embarkment at Cherbourg.

      "You will have splendid weather," he had declared. "It will be fine all the way over."

      When the steamer passed out of the breakwater into the English Channel she breasted a northeaster that lasted all the way to the Banks. Even Hymie Salzman went under, and Leon Sammet walked the swaying decks alone. Twice a day he poked his head into the stateroom occupied by Moe Griesman and Abe Potash, for Abe had thrown economy to the winds and had gone halves with Moe in the largest outside room on board.

      "Boys," Leon would ask, "ain't you going to get up? The air is fine on deck."

      Had he but known it, Moe Griesman developed day by day, with growing intensity, that violent hatred for Leon that the hopelessly seasick feel toward good sailors; while toward Abe, who groaned unceasingly in the upper berth, Moe Griesman evinced the affectionate interest that the poor sailor evinces in any one who suffers more keenly than himself.

      At length Nantucket lightship was passed, and as the sea grew calmer two white-faced invalids, that on close scrutiny might have been recognized by their oldest friends to be Moe and Abe, tottered up the companionway and sank exhausted into the nearest deckchairs.

      "Well, Moe," Leon cried, as he bustled toward them smoking a large cigar and clad in a suit of immaculate white flannels, "so you're up again?"

      The silence with which Moe received this remark ought to have warned Leon, but he plunged headlong to his fate.

      "We are now only twenty hours from New York," he said, "and suppose I go downstairs and bring you up some of them styles which I got in Paris."

      "You shouldn't trouble yourself," Moe said shortly.

      "Why not?" Leon inquired.

      "Because, for all I care," Moe replied viciously, "you could fire 'em overboard. I would oser buy from you a button."

      "What's the matter?" Leon cried.

      "You know what's the matter," Moe continued.

      "You come every day into my stateroom and mock me yet because I am sick."

      "I mock you!" Leon exclaimed.

      "That's what I said," Moe continued; "and if you wouldn't take that cigar away from here I'll break your neck when I get on shore again."

      Leon backed away hurriedly and Moe turned to Abe.

      "Am I right or wrong?" he said.

      Abe nodded. He was incapable of audible speech, but hour by hour he grew stronger until at dinner-time he was able to partake of some soup and roast beef, and even to listen with a wan smile to Moe's caustic appraisement of Leon Sammet's character. Finally, after a good night's rest, Moe and Abe awoke to find the engine stilled at Quarantine. They were saved the necessity of packing their trunks for the cogent reason that they had been physically unable to open them, let alone unpack them. Hence they repaired at once to breakfast.

      Leon was already seated at table, and he hastily cancelled an order for Yarmouth bloater and asked instead for a less fragrant dish.

      "Good morning, Moe," he said pleasantly.

      Moe turned to Abe. "To-morrow morning at nine o'clock, Abe," he said, "I would be down in your store to look over your line."

      "Steward," Leon Sammet cried, "never mind that steak. I would take the bloater anyhow."

      Abe and Moe breakfasted lightly on egg and toast, and returned to their stateroom as they passed the Battery.

      "Say, lookyhere, Moe," Abe said; "I want to show you something which I bought for you as a surprise the night before we left Paris. I got it right in the top of my suitcase here, and it wouldn't take a minute to show it to you."

      Abe was unstrapping his suitcase as he spoke, and the next minute he shook out the gown he had purchased from the young lady of the Cafe de la Paix, and exposed it to Moe's admiring gaze.

      "How did you get hold of that, Abe?" Moe asked.

      Abe narrated his adventure at the Grand Hotel, while Moe gaped his astonishment.

      "I always thought you got a pretty good nerve, Abe," he declared, "but this sure is the limit. How much did you pay for it?"

      "Three hundred of them—now—francs," Abe replied; "but I've been figuring out the cost of manufacturing and material, and I could duplicate it in New York for forty dollars a garment."

      "You mean thirty-five dollars a garment, don't you?" Moe said.

      "No, I don't," Abe replied. "I mean forty dollars a garment. Why do you say thirty-five dollars?"

      "Because at forty dollars apiece, Abe, I could use for my Sarahcuse, Rochester, and Buffalo stores about fifty of these garments, and you ought to figure on at least five dollars' profit on a garment."

      "Well, maybe I am figuring it a little too generous, y'understand; so, if that goes, Moe, I will quote the selling price at, say, forty dollars a garment to you, Moe."

      "Sure, it goes," Moe said; "and I'll be at your store to-morrow morning at nine o'clock to decide on sizes and shades."

      Abe's passage through the customs examination was accomplished with ease, for nearly all his Paris purchases were packed in the hold to be cleared by a custom-house broker. His stateroom baggage contained no dutiable articles save the gown in question and a few trinkets for Rosie, who was at the pier to greet him. Indeed, she bestowed on him a series of kisses that reechoed down the long pier, and Abe's pallor gave way to the sunburnt hue of his amused fellow-passengers. In one of them Abe recognized with a start the tanned features of the young lady of the Café de la Paix.

      "Moe," he said, nudging Griesman, "there's your friend."

      Moe turned in the direction indicated by Abe, and his interested manner was not unnoticed by Mrs. Potash.

      "How is your dear wife and daughter, Mr. Griesman?" she asked significantly. "I suppose you missed 'em a whole lot."

      When Moe assured her that he did she sniffed so violently that it might have been taken for a snort.

      "Well, Abe," he said at length, "I'll be going on to the Prince Clarence, and I'll see you in the store to-morrow morning. Good-by, Mrs. Potash."

      "Good-by," Mrs. Potash replied, with an emphasis that implied "good riddance," and then, as Moe disappeared toward the street, she sniffed again. "It don't take long for some loafers to forget their wives!" she said.

      "Well, Abe," Morris said, after the

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