LITMIR.BIZ

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the third loft of a building on Walker Street. There was no elevator, and as Morris walked upstairs he encountered Ike Magnus at the first landing.

      "Hallo, Mawruss!" Ike cried. "Are you buying clothing now? I thought you was in the cloak and suit business."

      "Whatever business I'm in, Ike," Morris replied, "I'm in my own business, Ike; and what is somebody else's business ain't my business, Ike. That's the way I feel about it."

      He plodded slowly up the next flight, and there stood Samuel Michaelson, another real-estate operator.

      "Ah, Mr. Perlmutter!" Samuel exclaimed. "You get around to see the clothing trade once in a while, too. Ain't it?"

      "I get around to see all sorts of trade, Mr. Michaelson," Morris rejoined. "I got to get around and hustle to make a living, Mr. Michaelson, because, Mr. Michaelson, I can't make no living by loafing around street corners and buildings, Mr. Michaelson."

      "Don't mention it," said Mr. Michaelson as Morris started up the last flight. When he entered the Equinox Clothing Company's office the clang of the bell drowned out the last words of Marks Henochstein's sentence. Mr. Henochstein, another member of the real-estate fraternity, was in intimate conference with Harris Rabin.

      "I think we got him going," he was saying. "My wife seen Mrs. Perlmutter at a Kaffeeklatsch yesterday, and she told her I made you an offer of forty-eight four-fifty for the house. Last night when he came around to your place I told him the house ain't no bargain for any one what ain't a real-estater, y'understand, and he gets quite mad about it. Also, I watched him when Ike Magnus tells you he would give forty-eight five for it, and he turned pale. If he——"

      At this juncture the doorbell rang and Morris entered.

      "No, siree, sir," Harris Rabin bawled. "Forty-nine thousand is my figure, and that ain't forty-eight nine ninety-nine neither."

      Here he recognized Morris Perlmutter with an elaborate start and extended his hand in greeting.

      "Hallo, Mawruss," he said. "Them real-estaters pester the life out of a feller. 'Tain't no use your hanging around here, Henochstein," he called in sterner tones. "When I make up my mind I make up my mind, and that's all there is to it."

      Henochstein turned in crestfallen silence and passed slowly out of the room.

      "Them sharks ain't satisfied that you're giving away a house, Mawruss," Harris went on. "They want it you should let 'em have coupons and trading stamps with it."

      "How much did he offer you?" Morris asked.

      "Forty-eight five-fifty," Harris Rabin replied. "That feller's got a nerve like a horse."

      "Oh, I don't know," Morris murmured. "Forty-eight five-fifty is a good price for the house, Harris."

      "Is it?" Harris cried. "Well, maybe you think so, but you ain't such a griterion."

      Morris was visibly offended at so harsh a rejoinder.

      "I know I ain't, Harris," he said. "If I was I wouldn't be here, Harris. I come here like a friend, not like one of them—them—fellers what you talk about. If it wasn't that my Minnie is such a friend to your daughter Miriam I shouldn't bother myself; but, knowing Alec Goldwasser as I do, and being a friend of yours always up to now, Harris, I come to you and say I will give you forty-eight six hundred for the house, and that is my last word."

      Harris Rabin laughed aloud.

      "Jokes you are making it, Mawruss," he said. "A joke is a joke, but when a feller got all the trouble what I got it, as you know, Mawruss, he got a hard time seeing a joke, Mawruss."

      "That ain't no joke, Harris," Morris replied. "That's an offer, and I can sit right down now and make a memorandum if you want it, and pay you fifty dollars as a binder."

      "I'll tell you what I'll do, Mawruss," Harris said. "You raised Henochstein fifty dollars, so I'll come down fifty dollars, and that'll be forty-eight thousand nine hundred and fifty."

      He grew suddenly excited and grabbed Morris by the arm.

      "Don't let's waste no time about it," he cried. "What's the use of memorandums? We go right away by Henry D. Feldman and fix up the contract."

      "Hold on." Morris said with a stare that blended frigidity and surprise in just the right proportions. "I ain't said nothing about forty-eight nine-fifty. What I said was forty-eight six."

      "You don't mean that, Mawruss," Harris replied. "You mean forty-eight nine."

      Morris saw that the psychological moment had arrived.

      "Look-y here, now, Harris," he said. "Forty-eight six from forty-eight nine is three hundred. Ain't it?"

      Harris nodded.

      "Then," Morris announced, "we'll split the difference and make it forty-eight seven-fifty."

      For one thoughtful moment Harris remained silent, and then he clapped his hand into that of Morris.

      "Done!" he cried.

      Twenty days elapsed, during which Potash & Perlmutter took title to Harris Rabin's house and paid the balance of the purchase price, moieties of which found their way into the pockets of Magnus, Michaelson and Henochstein. At length, the first of the month arrived and Abe and Morris left the store early so that they might collect the rents of their real property.

      "I seen the house, Abe, and you seen the house," Morris said as they turned the corner of the crowded East Side street on which their property fronted, "but you can't tell nothing from looking at a property, Abe. When you get the rents, Abe, that's when you find it out that you got a fine property, Abe."

      He led the way up the front stoop of the tenement and knocked at the first door on the left-hand side. There was no response.

      "They must be out. Ain't it?" Abe suggested.

      Morris faced about and knocked on the opposite door, with a similar lack of response.

      "I guess they go out to work and lock up their rooms," Morris explained. "We should have came here after seven o'clock."

      They walked to the end of the hall and knocked on the door of one of the two rear apartments.

      "Come!" said a female voice.

      Morris opened the door and they entered.

      "We've come for the rent," he said. "Him and me is the new landlords."

      The tenant excused herself while she retired to one of the inner rooms and explored her person for the money. Then she handed Morris ten greasy one-dollar bills.

      "What's this?" Morris cried. "I thought the rear rooms were fourteen dollars a month. I saw the receipts made out last month."

      The tenant grinned fiendishly.

      "Sure you did," she replied. "We've been getting all kinds of receipts. Oncet we got a receipt for eighteen dollars, when dere was some vacancies in de house, but one of de syndicate says he'd get some more of dem 'professional' tenants, because it didn't look so good to a feller what comes snooping around for to buy the house, to see such high rents."

      "Syndicate?" Abe murmured. "Professional tenants?"

      "Sure," the tenant replied. "Dere was four to de syndicate. Magnus was one. Sumpin about a hen was de other, and den dere was dis here Rabin and a guy called Michaelson."

      "And what is this about professional tenants?" Morris croaked.

      "Oh, dere was twenty-four families in de house, includin' de housekeeper," the tenant replied. "Eighteen of 'em was professionals, and when de syndicate sold youse de house de professionals moved up to a house on Fourt' Street what de syndicate owns."

      Abe pulled his hat over his eyes and thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets.

      "S'enough, lady," he said; "I heard enough already."

      He

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