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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.
"A good designer, Abe," Leon went on hastily, "is a big asset, and Louis Grossman is a first-class A Number One designer. We done a tremendous spring business through Louis. I suppose you heard about our style forty-one-fifty?" Abe nodded. "Them Arverne Sacques," he said. "Yes, I heard about it from everybody I meet. He must be a gold-mine, that Louis Grossman." "He is," Leon continued.
"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.
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