hat for? The feller ain't
no relation to me at all. Why should we call the precious lamb after
Beckie Seiden's relations?"

"Do you mean to told me," he said, "that Pesach Gubin ain't no relation
to Bessie at all?"

Mrs. Saphir nodded and blushed.

"The way families is mixed up nowadays, Hillel," she said, "it don't do
no harm to claim relation with some people."

Her face commenced to resume its normal colour.

"Especially," she added, "if they got money."

CHAPTER FOUR

SERPENTS' TEETH

"All right, Max," cried Samuel Gembitz, senior member of S. Gembitz &
Sons; "if you think you know more about it as I do, Max, go ahead and
make up that style in all them fancy shades. But listen to what I'm
telling you, Max: black, navy blue, brown, and smoke is plenty enough;
and all them copenhoogens, wisterias, and tchampanyers we would get
stuck with, just as sure as little apples."

"That's what you think, pop," Max Gembitz replied.

"Well, I got a right to think, ain't I?" Samuel Gembitz retorted.

"Sure," Max said, "and so have I."

"After me," Samuel corrected. "I think first and then you think, Max;
and I think we wouldn't plunge so heavy on them 1040's. Make up a few
of 'em in blacks, navies, browns, and smokes, Max, and afterward we
would see about making up the others."

He rose from his old-fashioned Windsor chair in the firm's private
office and put on his hat--a silk hat of a style long obsolete.

"I am going to my lunch, Max," he said firmly, "and when I come back I
will be here. Another thing, Max: you got an idee them 1040's is a
brand-new style which is so original, understand me, we are bound to
make a big hit with it at seven-fifty apiece--ain't it?"

Max nodded.

"Well, good styles travels fast, Max," the old man said; "and you could
take it from me, Max, in two weeks' time Henry Schrimm and all them
other fellers would be falling over themselves to sell the self-same
garment at seven dollars."

He seized a gold-mounted, ebony cane, the gift of Harmony Lodge, 100,
I.O.M.A., and started for the stairway, but as he reached the door he
turned suddenly.

"Max," he shouted, "tell them boys to straighten up the sample racks.
The place looks like a pigsty already."

As the door closed behind his father Max aimed a kick at the
old-fashioned walnut desk and the old-fashioned Windsor chair; and
then, lighting a cigarette, he walked hurriedly to the cutting room.

"Lester," he said to his