Potash Perlmutter | Page 6

& Finkelbein, and he
tells me he gave Sammet Brothers a two-thousand-dollar order a couple

of weeks ago, including a hundred and twenty-two garments of that
new-style they got out, which they call the Arverne Sacque, one of
Louis Grossman's new models."
"Is that so?" said Morris. "Well, you know what I would do if I was
you, Abe? I'd see Louis Grossman and offer him ten dollars a week
more than Sammet Brothers pays him, and the first thing you know
he'd be working for us and not for Sammet Brothers."
"You got a great head, Mawruss," Abe rejoined ironically. "You got the
same idee all of a sudden what I think about a week ago already. I seen
Louis Grossman yesterday, and offered him fifteen, not ten."
"And what did he say?"
"He says he's working by Sammet Brothers under a contract, Mawruss,
what don't expire for a year yet, and they're holding up a quarter of his
wages under the contract, which he is to forfeit if he don't work it out."
"Don't you believe it, Abe," Morris broke in. "He's standing out for
more money."
"Is he?" said Abe with some heat. "Well, I seen the contract, Mawruss,
so either I'm a liar or not, Mawruss, ain't it?"
Here they were interrupted by the entrance of a customer, Ike Herzog,
of the Bon Ton Credit Outfitting Company.
"Ah, Mr. Herzog!" Abe cried, rising to his feet and extending both
hands in greeting. "Glad to see you. Ain't it a fine weather?"
Mr. Herzog grunted in reply.
"Potash," he said, "when I give you that order last week, I don't know
whether I didn't buy a big lot of your style fifty-nine-ten, ain't it?"
"Yes, you did," said Abe.
"Well," said Herzog, "I want to cancel that part of the order."

"Cancel it!" Abe cried. "Why, what's the matter with them garments?
Ain't the samples made up right?"
"Sure, they're made up right," said Herzog, "only I seen something
what I like better. It's about the same style, only more attractive. I mean
Sammet Brothers' style forty-one-fifty--their new Arverne Sacque."
"Mr. Herzog!" Abe cried.
Herzog raised a protesting palm.
"Now, Potash," he said, "you know whatever I buy in staples you get
the preference; but when anybody's got a specialty like that Arverne
Sacque, what's the use of talking?"
He shook hands cordially.
"I'll be around to see you in about a week," he said, and the next
moment the door closed behind him.
"Well, Mawruss, that settles it," said Abe, putting on his hat. "When we
lose a good customer like Ike Herzog, I gets busy right away."
"Where are you going, Abe?" Morris asked.
Abe struggled into his overcoat and seized his umbrella.
"Round to Sammet Brothers," he replied. "I'm going to get that young
feller away from them if I got to pay 'em a thousand dollars to boot."
Leon Sammet, head of the copartnership of Sammet Brothers, sat in the
firm's sample room and puffed gloomily at a Wheeling stogy. His
brother, Barney Sammet, stood beside him reading aloud from a letter
which he held in his hand.
"'Gents,'" he said, "'your shipment of the fourteenth instant to hand, and
in reply will say we ain't satisfied with nothing but style forty-one-fifty.
Our Miss Kenny is a perfect thirty-six, and she can't breathe in them
Empires style 3022, in sizes 36, 38 or 40. What is the matter with you,

anyway? We are returning them via Eagle Dispatch. We are yours truly,
The Boston Store, Horowitz & Finkelbein, Proprietors.'"
"Yes, Barney," Leon commented, "that's a designer for you, that Louis
Grossman. His Arverne Sacques is all right, Barney, but the rest is nix.
He's a one garment man. Tell Miss Aaronstamm to bring in her book. I
want to send them Boston Store people a letter."
A moment later Miss Aaronstamm entered, and sat down at a sample
table.
"Write to the Boston Store," Leon Sammet said. "'Horowitz &
Finkelbein, Proprietors, Gents'--got that? 'We received your favor of
the eighteenth instant, and in reply would say we don't accept no styles
what you return.' Got that? 'If your Miss Kenny can't breathe in them
garments that ain't our fault. They wasn't made to breathe in; they was
made to sell. You say she is a perfect thirty-six. How do we know that?
We ain't never measured her, and we don't believe you have, neither.
Anyway, we ain't taking back no goods what we sold once. Yours
truly.' That's all, Miss Aaronstamm. I guess that'll fix 'em. What,
Barney?"
Barney nodded gloomily.
"I tell you, Barney," Leon went on, "I wish I never seen that Louis
Grossman. He certainly got into us good and proper."
"I don't know, Leon," said Barney. "That Arverne Sacque was a record