d to his
daughter in tremulous tones, and Babette eyed him somewhat
suspiciously.

"Furthermore," he said boldly, "if you want to come with me you could
do so. The way you are looking so yellow lately, Babette, a little walk
in the park wouldn't do you no harm."

Sam well knew that his daughter was addicted to the practice of facial
massage, and he felt sure that any reference to yellowness would drive
Babette to her dressing-table and keep her safely engaged with mirror
and cold cream until past noon.

"Don't stay out long," she said, and Sam nodded.

"I would be back when I am hungry," he replied; "and maybe I would take
a look in at Mrs. Krakauer. If you get anxious about me telephone her."

Ten minutes later he called at the cigar store on Lenox Avenue and
secured his samples, after which he rang up Mrs. Schrimm.

"Hello, Henrietta!" he shouted, "This is Sam--yes, Sam Gembitz. What is
the matter? Nothing is the matter. Huh? Sure, I feel all right. I give
you a scare? Why should I give you a scare, Henrietta? Sure, we are old
friends; but that ain't the point, Henrietta. I want to ask you you
should do me something as a favour. You should please be so good and
ring up Mrs. Krakauer, which you should tell her, if Babette rings her
up and asks for me any time between now and six o'clock to-night, she
should say I was there, but I just left. Did you get that straight? All
right. Good-bye."

He heaved a sigh of relief as he paid for the telephone call and
pocketed a handful of cheap cigars.

"Don't you want a boy to help you carry them samples, Mr. Gembitz?" the
proprietor asked.

"Do I look like I wanted a boy to help me carry samples?" Sam retorted
indignantly, and a moment later he swung aboard an eastbound crosstown
car.

It was past noon when Sam entered Henry Schrimm's showroom and his face
bore a broad, triumphant grin.

"Well, Henry," he shouted, "what did I told you? To a feller which he
is knowing how to sell goods there ain't no such things as stickers."

"Did you get rid of 'em?" Henry asked.

Sam shook his head.

"No, Henry," he said, "I didn't get rid of 'em--I sold 'em; and,
furthermore, Henry, I sold four hundred dollars' worth more just like
'em to Mr. Rosett, of the Rochelle Department Store, which you should
send him right away a couple sample garments of them 1040's."

"What d'ye mean, 1040's?" Henry asked. "I ain't got no such lot number
in my place."

"No, I know you ain't; but