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Updated: June 28, 2025
Each seized a hand and, patting him on the back, escorted him to the show-room. "First thing," M. Garfunkel said, "here is a check for the current bill." "No hurry," Abe and Morris exclaimed, with what the musical critics call splendid attack. "Now that that's out of the way," M. Garfunkel went on, "I want to give you another order.
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?"
For the next hour M. Garfunkel pawed over Potash & Perlmutter's stock, and when he finally took leave of Abe he had negotiated an order of a thousand dollars; terms, sixty days net. The statement of M. Garfunkel's financial condition, which arrived the following day, more than satisfied Morris Perlmutter and, had it not been quite so glowing in character, it might even have satisfied Abe Potash.
M. Garfunkel lived in a stylish apartment on One Hundred and Eighteenth Street. His family consisted of himself, Mrs. Garfunkel, three children and a Lithuanian maid named Anna, and it was a source of wonder to the neighbors that a girl so slight in frame could perform the menial duties of so large a household.
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