LITMIR.BIZ

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of the beauty of the dress. Indeed, the longer he looked at it the uglier it appeared, until at length he grabbed it roughly and literally tore it from the wire form. He had rolled it into a ball and was about to cast it into a corner when the elevator door opened and a young lady stepped out.

      "Good morning, Mr. Perlmutter," she said.

      Morris turned his face in the direction of the speaker and at once his mouth expanded into a broad grin.

      "Why, Miss Smith!" he exclaimed as he rushed forward to greet her. "How do you do? Me and Mrs. Perlmutter was just talking about you to-day. How much you think that boy weighs now?"

      "Sixteen pounds," Miss Smith replied.

      "Twenty-two," Morris cried—"net."

      "You don't say so!" said Miss Smith.

      "We got you to thank for that, Miss Smith," Morris continued. "The doctor says without you anything could happen."

      Miss Smith deprecated this compliment to her professional skill with a smiling shake of the head.

      "We wouldn't forget it in a hurry," Morris declared. "Everything what that boy is to-day, Miss Smith, we owe it to you."

      "You're making it hard for me, Mr. Perlmutter," Miss Smith replied, "because I've come to ask you a favour."

      "A favour?" Morris replied. "You couldn't ask me to do you a favour because it wouldn't be no favour. It would be a pleasure. What could I do for you?"

      "I have to leave town to-morrow on a case," Miss Smith explained, "and I need a dress in a hurry, something light for evening wear."

      Morris frowned perplexedly.

      "That's too bad," he said, "because just at present we got nothing but last year's goods in stock—all except—all except this."

      He unfolded the model and shook it out.

      "What a pretty dress!" Miss Smith cried, clasping her hands.

      "Pretty!" Morris exclaimed. "How could you say it was pretty?"

      "It's perfectly stunning," Miss Smith continued. "What size is it, Mr. Perlmutter?"

      "The usual size," Morris replied; "thirty-six."

      "Why, that's just my size," Miss Smith declared. "Let me see it." Morris handed her the dress and she examined it carefully. "What a pity," she said, "it has a slight rip in front. Somebody's been handling it carelessly."

      "Sure, I know," Morris said. "I tore it myself, Miss Smith; but if you really and truly like it, Miss Smith, which I tell you the truth I don't, and my partner neither, you are welcome to it, and I would give you a little piece from the same goods which you could fix up the rip with."

      "I couldn't think of it," Miss Smith replied.

      "Not at all, Miss Smith. You would do me a favour if you would take it along with you right now."

      Miss Smith fairly beamed as she opened her handbag.

      "How much is it?" she asked.

      "How much is it?" Morris repeated. "Why, Miss Smith, you could take that dress only on one condition. The condition is that you wouldn't pay me nothing for it, and that next fall, when we really got something in stock, you would come in and pick out as many of our highest-price garments as you would want."

      Morris's hand shook so with this unusual access of generosity that he could hardly wrap up the garment.

      "Also, Miss Smith, I expect you will come up and have dinner with us as soon as you get back from wherever you are going. Already the baby commences to recognize people which he meets, and we want him he should never forget you, Miss Smith."

      The cordiality with which Morris ushered Miss Smith into the elevator was in striking contrast to the brusk manner in which he greeted Abe half an hour later.

      "Nu!" he growled. "Where was you now?"

      "By the steamship office," Abe replied. "I am going next Saturday."

      "Going next Saturday?" Morris repeated. "Where to?"

      "To Paris," Abe replied, "on the same ship with Moe Griesman, Leon Sammet and Hymie Salzman."

      Morris nodded slowly as the news sank in.

      "Well, all I could say is, Abe," he commented at length, "that I don't wish you and the other passengers no harm, y'understand; but, with them three suckers on board the ship, I hope it sinks."

      The five days preceding Abe's departure were made exceedingly busy for him by Morris, who soon became reconciled to his partner's fashion-hunting trip, particularly when he learned that Moe Griesman formed part of the quarry.

      "You got to remember one thing, Abe," he declared. "Extremes is nix. Let the other feller buy the freaks; what we are after is something in moderation."

      "You shouldn't worry about that, Mawruss," Abe replied. "I wouldn't bring you home no such model like you showed it me this week."

      "You would be lucky if you wouldn't bring home worser yet," Morris retorted. "But anyhow that ain't the point. I got here the names of a couple commission men which it is their business to look out for greenhorns."

      "What d'ye mean, greenhorn?" Abe cried indignantly. "I ain't no greenhorn."

      "That's all right," Morris went on; "in France only the Frenchers ain't greenhorns. You ain't told me what kind of a stateroom you got it."

      "Well, the outside rooms was one hundred and twenty-five dollars and the inside room, was eight-five dollars," Abe explained; "so I took an inside room because the light wouldn't come in and wake me up so early in the morning, Mawruss, and forty dollars is as good to me as it is to them suckers what runs the steamboat company. Ain't it?"

      Nevertheless, when Abe found himself in his upper berth the morning after he had parted with Minnie, Rosie, and Morris at the pier, he had reason to regret his economy. He shared his stateroom with a singer of minor operatic rôles, who, as a souvenir of a farewell luncheon ashore, carried into that narrow precinct an odour of garlic that persisted for the entire voyage. In addition, the returning artist smoked Egyptian cigarettes and anointed his generous head of hair with violet brilliantine. Hence it was not until the boat was passing Brow Head that Abe staggered up the companionway to the promenade deck.

      "Why, hallo, Abe!" cried a bronzed and bulky figure. "I ain't seen you for almost a week."

      "No?" Abe murmured. "Well, if you would wanted to seen me, Leon, you knew where you could find me: just below the pantry my stateroom was, inside. A dawg shouldn't got to live in such a place."

      At this juncture Salzman appeared to summon his employer to a game of auction pinocle in the smoking room, and as Abe started to make a feeble promenade around the deckhouse he encountered Moe Griesman. After Moe had taken Abe's hand in a limp clasp he nodded in the direction of the smoking room.

      "What d'ye think of them two suckers?" he croaked. "They ain't missed a meal since they came aboard."

      "What could you expect from a couple of tough propositions like that?" Abe replied. "Was you sick, Moe?"

      "Sick!" Griesman exclaimed. "I give you my word, Abe, last Thursday night I was so sick that I commenced to figure out already how much I would of saved in premiums if my insurings policies would be straight life instead of endowment. No, Abe; this here business of going to Paris for your styles ain't what it's cracked up to be. Always up to now I got fine weather crossing, but the way the water has been the last six days, Abe, I am beginning to think I could get just so good idees of the season's models right in New York."

      "D'ye know, Moe," said Abe, "I'm starting to feel hungry? I wish that feller with the shofar would come."

      Hardly had he spoken when the ship's bugler announced luncheon, but it was some minutes before Moe could summon up sufficient courage to go below to the dining saloon, and when they entered they found

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