ies' Harlem Express with them
packages what we shipped it the Longchamps Store yesterday. Should I
take 'em in?"

Abe jumped to his feet.

"Did Margulies bring 'em up?" he asked.

"He had 'em just now on the elevator," Jake replied.

"Wait, I go with you," Abe said. Together they walked rapidly toward the
freight elevator, which opened into the cutting-room, but before they
reached the door a shrill outcry rose from the floor below.

The East Side slogan of woe, "Oi gewalt," blended with women's shrieks,
and at length came the cry: "Fie-urr! Fie-urr!"

Simultaneously Miss Cohen, the bookkeeper, lifted up her voice in
strident despair while a great cloud of black smoke puffed from the
elevator shaft, and the next moment Abe, Morris, Jake and the half-dozen
cutters were pushing their way downstairs, elbowed by a frenzied mob of
operators, male and female. When they arrived at the ground floor the
engines were clanging around the corner, and Abe and Morris ran across
the street to the opposite sidewalk. Suddenly an inarticulate cry
escaped Abe and he sank onto a convenient dry-goods box.

"What's the trouble, Abe?" Morris asked. "Are you sick?"

"The policies!" Abe croaked, and closed his eyes. When he opened them a
minute later his partner grinned at him reassuringly.

"I got 'em in my breast pocket, Abe," Morris said. "As soon as I seen
the smoke I grabbed 'em, and I locked up the safe with the books
inside."

Abe revived immediately.

"That reminds me, Mawruss," he said as he took a cigar from his
waistcoat pocket: "What become of Miss Cohen?"

Twenty minutes later the fire was extinguished, and Abe and Morris
returned to their loft. The first person to greet them was Miss Cohen,
and, aside from a slight careening of her pompadour, she seemed none
the worse for her dangerous experience.

"Mr. Potash," she said in businesslike tones, "the Longchamps Store
just rung up and says about them garments what they returned that it
was all a mistake, and that they was all right and you should reship
'em right away."

The show-room was flooded with sunlight and a mild spring breeze had
almost dissipated the acrid smell of smoke.

"What did I tell you, Mawruss?" Abe said. "Feinholz is like them suckers
in Kansas City. He was scared he couldn't sell them capes in wet
weather, and now it's cleared up fine he wants 'em bad, Mawruss. I'll go
and see what happened to 'em."

He hustled off toward the rear of the loft