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Updated: June 28, 2025
Only thing is, Mawruss, you know as well as I do that in the installment cloak and suit business a feller needs a lot of capital. Ain't it?" Morris nodded. "And if he buys goods only for cash or thirty or sixty days, Abe," M. Garfunkel continued, "he sometimes gets pretty cramped for money, because his own customers takes a long time to pay up. Ain't it?" Abe nodded, too.
Morris blushed, while Lina and M. Garfunkel both made a critical examination of the garment's eccentric fit. "Why, that's one of them forty-twenty-two's what I ordered a lot of this morning, Mawruss. Ain't it?" Morris gazed ruefully at the plum-color gown and nodded. "Then don't ship that order till you hear from me," M. Garfunkel said. "I guess I got to hustle right along."
He returned to the first floor, where M. Garfunkel eagerly awaited him, and produced a box of the firm's K. to M. first and second credit customers' cigars. "Have a smoke, Mr. Garfunkel," he said. M. Garfunkel selected a cigar with care and sat down. "Well, Abe," he said, "that was a long talk you had over the telephone." "Sure it was," Abe replied.
"That's all right," Morris replied, and when M. Garfunkel left the store Abe and Morris immediately set about the assorting of the ordered stock. "Look a-here, Mawruss," Abe said, "I thought you was going to see about that girl for my Rosie." "Why, so I was, Abe," Morris replied; "I'll attend to it right away."
He was about to return to the bedroom and report Anna's disappearance when a key rattled in the hall door and Anna herself entered. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was blown about her face in unbecoming disorder. Nevertheless, she smiled the triumphant smile of the well-dressed. "Me late," she said, but Garfunkel forgot all about his lost breakfast hour when he beheld the plum-color Empire.
Anna hung her head and simpered. "Mister M. Garfunkel," she murmured. "Is that so?" Morris exclaimed. "Why, he's a good customer of ours." "Don't butt in, Mawruss," Abe said. "And what did you leave him for, Anna?" "Me don't leave them," Anna replied. "Mrs. Garfunkel is fine lady. Mister Garfunkel, too. They leave me. They goin' away next month, out to the country."
"Excuse me for a moment," Morris broke in, "I think I hear the telephone." He walked to the rear of the store, where the telephone bell had been trilling impatiently. "Hello," he said, taking the receiver off the hook. "Hello," said a voice from the other end of the line. "Is this Potash & Perlmutter?" "It is," said Morris. "Well, this is Garfunkel & Levy," the voice went on. "We understand Mr.
Morris' prophecy proved to be true, for at the end of four weeks M. Garfunkel called at Potash & Perlmutter's store and paid his sixty-day account with the usual discount of ten per cent. Moreover, he gave them another order for two thousand dollars' worth of goods at the same terms.
"M. Garfunkel's account ain't due till to-day." "Always M. Garfunkel!" Abe cried. "M. Garfunkel don't worry me much, Mawruss. I'd like to see a check from him, too, Mawruss, but I ain't wasting no time on him. My Rosie is sick." "Sick!" Morris exclaimed. "That's too bad, Abe. What seems to be the trouble?"
In this instance, however, full fifty-nine days elapsed without word from M. Garfunkel, and on the morning of the sixtieth day Abe entered the store bearing every appearance of anxiety. "Well, Abe," Morris cried, "what's the matter now? You look like you was worried." "I bet yer I'm worried, Mawruss," Abe replied. "Well, what's the use of worrying?" he rejoined.
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