ident of the Kosciusko Bank, who spoke. He
was midway in the divided enjoyment of a shampoo and a large black
cigar, while an electric fan oscillated over his head.

"I bet yer it's hot, Mr. Feder," Morris agreed, taking off his coat.

"Why don't you take your vest off, too, Mawruss?" Sam Feder suggested.

"That's a good idee," Morris replied, peeling off his waistcoat. He hung
it next to his coat and relapsed with a sigh into the nearest vacant
chair.

"Just once around, Phil," he said to the barber, and closed his eyes for
a short nap.

When he woke up ten minutes later Phil was spraying him with witch-hazel
while the proprietor stood idly in front of the mirror and curled his
flowing black mustache.

"Don't take it so particular, Phil," Morris enjoined. "I ain't got it
all day to sit here in this chair."

"All right, Mr. Perlmutter, all right," Phil cried, and in less than
three minutes, powdered, oiled and combed, Morris climbed out of the
chair. His coat was in waiting, held by a diminutive Italian brushboy,
but Morris waved his hand impatiently.

"My vest," he demanded. "I don't put my coat on under my vest."

The brushboy turned to the vacant row of hooks.

"No gotta da vest," he said.

"What!" Morris gasped.

"You didn't have no vest on, did you, Mr. Perlmutter?" the proprietor
asked.

"Sure I had a vest," Morris cried. "Where is it?"

On the wall hung a sign which advised customers to check their clothing
with the cashier or no responsibility would be assumed by the
management, and it was to this notice that the proprietor pointed before
answering.

"I guess somebody must have pinched it," he replied nonchalantly.

It was not until two hours after the disappearance of his waistcoat
that Morris returned to the store. In the meantime he had been to police
headquarters and had inserted an advertisement in three daily
newspapers. Moreover he had consulted a lawyer, the eminent Henry D.
Feldman, and had received no consolation either on the score of the
barber's liability to Potash & Perlmutter or of his own liability to
Kotzen.

"Well, Mawruss," Abe said, "how much are them diamonds worth?"

Then he looked up and for the first time saw his partner's haggard face.

"Holy smokes!" he cried. "They're winder-glass."

Morris shook his head. "I wish they was," he croaked.

"You wish they was!" Abe repeated in accents of amazement. "What d'ye
mean?"

"Somebody pinched 'em on me," Morris replie