are yours truly, The Boston Store, Horowitz & Finkelbein, Proprietors.'"

"Yes, Barney," Leon commented, "that's a designer for you, that Louis
Grossman. His Arverne Sacques is all right, Barney, but the rest is nix.
He's a one garment man. Tell Miss Aaronstamm to bring in her book. I
want to send them Boston Store people a letter."

A moment later Miss Aaronstamm entered, and sat down at a sample table.

"Write to the Boston Store," Leon Sammet said. "'Horowitz & Finkelbein,
Proprietors, Gents'--got that? 'We received your favor of the eighteenth
instant, and in reply would say we don't accept no styles what you
return.' Got that? 'If your Miss Kenny can't breathe in them garments
that ain't our fault. They wasn't made to breathe in; they was made to
sell. You say she is a perfect thirty-six. How do we know that? We ain't
never measured her, and we don't believe you have, neither. Anyway, we
ain't taking back no goods what we sold once. Yours truly.' That's all,
Miss Aaronstamm. I guess that'll fix 'em. What, Barney?"

Barney nodded gloomily.

"I tell you, Barney," Leon went on, "I wish I never seen that Louis
Grossman. He certainly got into us good and proper."

"I don't know, Leon," said Barney. "That Arverne Sacque was a record
seller."

"Arverne Sacque!" Leon cried. "That's all everybody says. We can't make
a million dollars out of one garment alone, Barney. We can't even make
expenses. I'm afraid we'll go in the hole over ten thousand dollars if