Part 45 (2/2)

Feigenbaum declared. ”I got to get along and buy my stuff.”

Abe sprang to his feet.

”Buy it here!” he cried. He seized Feigenbaum by the arm and propelled him over to the sample line of skirts, behind which Morris cowered.

”Look at them goods,” Abe said. ”One or two of them styles would be leaders for H. Rifkin. For us, all them different styles is our ordinary line.”

In turn, he displayed the rest of the firm's line and exercised his faculties of persuasion, argument and flattery to such good purpose that in less than an hour Feigenbaum had bought three thousand dollars' worth of garments, deliveries to be made within ten days.

”And now, Mr. Feigenbaum,” Abe said, ”I want you to look around our place. Mawruss is in the office, and he would be delighted, I know, to see you.”

He conducted his rediscovered customer to the office, where Morris was seated at the roll-top mahogany desk.

”Ah, Mr. Feigenbaum,” Morris cried, effusively seizing the newcomer by both hands, ”ain't it a pleasure to see you again! Take a seat.”

He thrust Feigenbaum into the revolving chair that he had just vacated, and took the box of gilt-edge customers' cigars out of the safe.

”Throw away that b.u.t.t and take a fresh cigar,” he exclaimed, handing Feigenbaum a satiny Invincible with the broad band of the best Havana maker on it. Feigenbaum received it with a smile, for he was now completely thawed out.

”You got a fine place here, Mawruss,” he said. ”Fixtures and everything A Number One, just like Rifkin's.”

”Better as Rifkin's,” Morris declared.

”Well, maybe it is better in quality,” Feigenbaum admitted; ”but, I mean, in arrangement and color it is just the same. Why, when I come in here with Abe, an hour ago, I a.s.sure you I thought I was in Rifkin's old place. In fact, I could almost swear this desk is the same desk what Rifkin had it.”

He rose to his feet and pa.s.sed his hand over the top of the desk with the touch of a connoisseur.

”No,” he said at last. ”It ain't the same as Rifkin's. Rifkin's desk was a fine piece of Costa Rica mahogany without a flaw. I used to be in the furniture business oncet, you know, Mawruss, and so I can tell.”

Abe flashed a triumphant grin on Morris, who frowned in reply.

”But ain't this here desk that--now--what-yer-call-it mahogany, too, Mr.

Feigenbaum?” Morris asked.

”Well, it's Costa Rica mahogany, all right,” Feigenbaum said, ”but it's got a flaw into it.”

”A flaw?” Morris and Abe exclaimed with one voice.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LOOK AT THEM GOODS.]

”Sure,” Mr. Feigenbaum continued. ”It looks to me like somebody laid a cigar on to it and burned a hole there. Then some cabinetmaker fixed it up yet with colored putty and sh.e.l.lac. n.o.body would notice nothing except an expert like me, though.”

Feigenbaum looked at Morris' glum countenance with secret enjoyment, but when he turned to Abe he was startled into an exclamation, for Abe's face was ashen and large beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead.

”What's the matter, Abe?” Feigenbaum cried. ”Are you sick?”

”My stummick,” Abe murmured. ”I'll be all right in a minute!”

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