"I'm surprised to hear you that you should talk that way, Mawruss," Abe
rejoined. "Miss Cohen's been with us for five years, and we ain't lost
nothing by her, neither. You know as well as I do, Mawruss, her uncle,
Max Cohen, is a good customer of ours. Only last week he bought of us a
big bill of goods, Mawruss."

"Just the same, Abe," Morris went on, "if we get a bright young man in
there, instead of Miss Cohen, it would be a big improvement. We ought to
get some one in there what can manage a double entry, and can run a
card-index for our credits."

Abe puffed vigorously at his cigar.

"I suppose, Mawruss, if we got a card-index and we sell a crook a bill
of goods," he commented, "and the crook busts up on us, Mawruss, that
card-index is going to stop him from sticking us--what? Well, Mawruss,
if you want to put in a young feller and fire Miss Cohen, go ahead--I'm
satisfied."

As if to clinch the matter before his partner could retract this
somewhat grudging consent, Morris Perlmutter stalked out of the
sample-room and made resolutely for the glass-enclosed office, where
Miss Cohen was busy writing in a ledger. She looked up as he entered,
and surveyed him calmly with her large black eyes.

"Oh, Mr. Perlmutter!" she said when he came within ear-shot, "Uncle Max
was round to the house last night, and he wants you should duplicate
them forty-twenty-twos in his last order and ship at once."