stomer of his
Uncle Max Tuchman, Abe?"

Abe looked at Morris more in sorrow than in anger. "Mawruss," he said,
"do me the favor once and write that name down. A-T at, K-I-N kin, S-O-N
son, Atkinson--_not_ Aaronson."

"That's what I said--Atkinson--Abe," Morris protested; "and if you're so
scared we're going to lose her, Abe, go ahead and 'phone. We got to sell
goods to lady buyers _some time_, Abe, and we may as well make the break
_now_."

Abe waited to hear no more, but hastened to the 'phone, and when he
returned a few minutes later he found that Morris had gone to the barber
shop across the street. Twenty minutes afterward a sixty-horsepower
machine arrived at the store door just as Morris came up the steps of
the barber shop underneath Wasserbauer's Cafe and Restaurant. He almost
bumped into Philip Plotkin, of Kleinberg & Plotkin, who was licking the
refractory wrapper of a Wheeling stogy, with one eye fixed on the
automobile in front of his competitors' store.

"Hallo, Mawruss," Philip cried. "Pretty high-toned customers you must
got it when they come down to the store in oitermobiles, ain't it?"

Morris flashed his gold fillings in a smile of triumphant superiority.
"That ain't no customer's oitermobile, Philip," he said. "That's for
_us_ an oitermobile, what we take it out our customers riding in."

"Why don't you take it out credit men from commission houses riding,
Mawruss?" Philip rejoined as Morris stepped from the curb to cross the
street. This was an allusion to the well-known circumstance that with
credit men a customer's automobile-riding inspires as much confidence as
his betting on the horse races, and when Morris climbed into the tonneau
he paid little attention to Abe's instructions, so busy was he glancing
around him for prying credit men. At length, with a final jar and jerk
the machine sprang forward, and for the rest of the journey Morris' mind
was emptied of every other apprehension save that engendered of passing
trucks or street cars. Finally, the machine drew up in front of the
Prince William and Morris scrambled out, trembling in every limb. He
made at once for the clerk's desk.

"Please send this to Miss Isaacson," he said, handing out a firm card.

The clerk consulted an index and shook his head. "No Miss Isaacson
registered here," he said.

"Oh, sure not," Morris cried, smiling apologetically. "I mean Miss
Aaronson."

Once more the clerk pawed over his card index. "You've got