LITMIR.BIZ

      During the first three days of Abe Potash's vacation he had traveled by local train one hundred and twenty miles to Dotyville, and unpacked and packed two trunks under the shrill and captious supervision of Mrs. Potash. Then followed a tiresome journey to Pittsburgh with two changes of cars, and finally, on the morning of the fourth day, at seven-thirty sharp, he accompanied Hyman Margolius to the latter's place of business.

      There he took off his coat and helped Hyman and his staff of assistants to pile up and mark for auction a large consignment of clothing. After this, he called off the lot numbers while Hyman checked them in a first draft of a printed catalogue, and at one o'clock, with hands and face all grimy from contact with the ill-dyed satinets of which the clothing was manufactured, he partook of a substantial luncheon at Bleistift's Restaurant and Lunch-Room.

      "Well, Abe," Hyman said, "how do you like the auction business so far as you gone yet?"

      "It's a good, live business, Hymie," Abe replied; "but, the way it works out, it ain't always on the square. A fellow what wants to do his creditors buys goods in New York, we'll say, for his business in—Galveston, we'll say, and then when he gets the goods he don't even bother to unpack 'em, Hymie, but ships 'em right away to you. And you examine 'em, and if they're all O. K., why, you send him a check for about half what it costs to manufacture 'em. Then he pockets the check, Hymie, and ten days later busts up on the poor sucker what sold him the goods in New York at ninety days. Ain't that right, Hymie?"

      "Why, that's the funniest thing you ever seen!" Hyman exclaimed.

      "What's the funniest thing I ever seen, Hymie?"

      "You talking about Galveston, for instance."

      Abe turned pale and choked on a piece of rosbraten.

      "What d'ye mean?" he gasped.

      "Why," said Hyman, "I just received a consignment of garments from a feller called Lowenstein in Galveston. He wrote me he was overstocked."

      "Overstocked?" Abe cried. "Overstocked? What color was them garments?"

      "Why, they was a kind of plum color," said Hyman.

      Abe put his hand to his throat and eased his collar.

      "And did you send him a check for 'em yet?" he croaked.

      "Not yet," said Hyman.

      Abe grabbed him by the collar.

      "Come!" he said. "Come quick by a lawyer!"

      "What for?" Hyman asked. "You're pulling that coat all out of shape yet."

      "I'll buy you another one," Abe cried. "Them plum-color garments is mine, and I want to get 'em back."

      Hyman paid the bill, and on their way down the street they passed a telegraph office.

      "Wait," Abe cried, "I must send Mawruss a wire."

      He entered and seized a telegraph form, which he addressed to Potash & Perlmutter.

      "Don't ship no more goods to Lowenstein, Morris. Will explain by letter to-night," he wrote.

      "Now, Hymie," he said after he had paid for the dispatch, "we go by your lawyer."

      Five minutes later they were closeted with Max Marcus, senior member of the firm of Marcus, Weinschenck & Grab, and a lodge brother of Hymie Margolius. Max made a specialty of amputation cases. He was accustomed to cashing missing arms and legs at a thousand dollars apiece for the victims of rolling-mill and railway accidents, and when the sympathetic jury brought in their generous verdict Max paid the expert witnesses and pocketed the net proceeds. These rarely fell below five thousand dollars.

      "Sit down, Hymie. Glad to see you, Mr. Potash," Max said, stroking a small gray mustache with a five-carat diamond ring. "What can I do for you?"

      "I got some goods belonging to Mr. Potash what a fellow called Lowenstein in Galveston, Texas, shipped me," said Hymie, "and Mr. Potash wants to get 'em back."

      "Replevin, hey?" Max said. "That's a little out of my line, but I guess I can fix you up." He rang for a stenographer. "Take this down," he said to her, and turned to Abe Potash. "Now, tell us the facts."

      Abe recounted the tale Mr. Lowenstein had related to Morris Perlmutter, by which Lowenstein made it appear that he was completely out of stock. Next,

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