rments,
which we are to return to him just so soon as we can copy them, and
then----"

"S'enough," Abe cried. "I heard enough, Sol. Don't rub it in."

"Why, what do you mean, Abe?" Sol asked.

"I mean I got it a salesman in Chicago, Sol," Abe went on, "what ain't
sent us so much as a smell of an order. I guess there's only one thing
for me to do, Sol, and that's to go myself to Chicago and see what he's
up to."

Sol looked shocked.

"Don't you do it, Abe," he said. "Klein got a brother-in-law what got
the rheumatism like you got it, Abe, and the feller insisted on going to
Boston. The railroad trip finished him, I bet yer."

"Did he die?" Abe asked.

"Well, no, he didn't die exactly," Klinger replied; "but on the train
the rheumatism went to his head, and that poor, sick young feller took a
whole theayter troupe into the cafe car and blows 'em to tchampanyer
wine yet. Two hundred dollars it costed him."

"That's all right, Sol," Abe replied. "I could stand it if it stood me
in three hundred dollars, so long as I could stop Marks Pasinsky making
another town."

He rose to his feet with surprising alacrity for a rheumatic patient,
and returned to his office, where no communication had been received
from Marks Pasinsky.

"That settles it, Mawruss," Abe said as he jammed his hat farther down
on his head.

"Where are you going now?" Morris asked.

"I'm going home to pack my grip," Abe announced, "and I'll get that six
o'clock train to Chicago, sure."

"But, Abe," Morris protested, "I thought the doctor says if you went out
on the road he wouldn't be responsible for you."

"I know he did," Abe concluded as he passed out, "but who will be
responsible for Marks Pasinsky, Mawruss?"

When Abe reached Chicago the following afternoon he repaired at once to
the hotel at which Marks Pasinsky was staying.

"Mr. Pasinsky ain't in his room. What?" he said to the clerk.

"Mr. Pasinsky went out about one o'clock and hasn't been back since,"
the clerk replied as he handed Abe over to a bell-boy. Fifteen minutes
later Abe descended from his room with the marks of travel almost
effaced, and again inquired for Marks Pasinsky.

"He ain't been back since, Mr. Potash," said the clerk.

"He didn't go out with nobody. No?" Abe asked.

"I think he went out with a short, dark gentleman," the clerk answered.

Abe pondered for a moment. Simon Kuhner stood full six feet tall and was
a decided blond, while Chester Prosnauer,