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When Abe entered his showroom that morning Morris Perlmutter had just arranged a high-neck evening gown on a wire model. "Well, Abe, what d'ye think of it?" he exclaimed proudly, as he wiped his glistening brow. Abe fingered the garment's silken folds and puffed critically at a black cigar. "What could I think, Mawruss?" he replied.
Once he discounted his bill." "Is that so?" Abe said, as they reached the front of Potash & Perlmutter's store. "Glad to hear M. Garfunkel is so busy. Good-morning, Max." Morris Perlmutter met him at the door. "Hallo, Abe," he cried. "What's the matter? You look pale. Is Rosie worse?" Abe shook his head. "Mawruss," he said, "did you ship them goods to M. Garfunkel yet?"
The loft building on Nineteenth Street into which Potash & Perlmutter proposed to move was an imposing fifteen-story structure. Burnished metal signs of its occupants flanked its wide doorway, and the entrance hall gleamed with gold leaf and plaster porphyry, while the uniform of each elevator attendant would have graced the high admiral of a South American Navy.
"My name is Morris Perlmutter, and the pair of real gold eye-glasses which you just picked up and would let me have as a bargain for fifty cents, ain't no use to me neither." "I ain't picked up no eye-glasses," Noblestone said. "No?" Morris Perlmutter rejoined. "Well, I don't want to buy no blue white diamond ring neither, y'understand, so if it's all the same to you I got business to attend to."
He was no less astute in the buying end of the business; for in pitting Sammet Brothers, Klinger & Klein, and Potash & Perlmutter against one another he not only secured better terms of credit, but he found that it materially added to the quality of their garments.
"Well, then, I'll make it out to Potash & Perlmutter, and you can indorse it when you get there," said Morris. At this juncture a customer entered, and Abe took him into the show-room, while Morris wrote out the check.
His eyes sought instead the framed and glazed certificate of membership of Morris Perlmutter in Harmony Lodge 41, Independent Order Mattai Aaron. "Them very people hold the mortgage, Mr. Perlmutter," Rashkin said, "and with the influence what you got it in the order, why "
It must be confessed that the wedding reception that evening was a very enjoyable occasion for all the guests, with the possible exception of Max Cohen. The wine flowed like French champagne at four dollars a quart, while, as Morris Perlmutter at once deduced from the careful way in which the waiters disguised the label with a napkin, it was really domestic champagne of an inferior quality.
As if to clinch the matter before his partner could retract this somewhat grudging consent, Morris Perlmutter stalked out of the sample-room and made resolutely for the glass-enclosed office, where Miss Cohen was busy writing in a ledger. She looked up as he entered, and surveyed him calmly with her large black eyes. "Oh, Mr.
Lowenstein clucked sympathetically. "You don't say so," he murmured. "That's too bad. What seems to be the trouble?" "He's been feeling mean all the winter," Morris replied. "The doctor says he needs a rest." "That's always the way with them hard-working fellers," Mr. Lowenstein went on. "I'm feeling pretty sick myself, I assure you, Mr. Perlmutter. I've been working early and late in my store.
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