starting to rise.

"There's no hurry," said Morris. "I let her go uptown this morning. She
wanted to do some shopping."

Abe sat down again.

"You done a smart piece of work, Mawruss, I must say," he admitted.
"Ike's a good feller, and Miss Cohen'll make him a good wife, even if
she ain't a good bookkeeper. Also, we done a good turn to Max Cohen. I
bet he's pleased. I wonder he ain't been around yet."

Hardly had the words issued from Mr. Potash's mouth, when the store-door
opened to admit a short, thick-set person, and then closed again with a
bang that threatened every pane of glass in the vicinity. There was no
hesitation about the newcomer's actions. He made straight for the sample
room, and had almost reached it before Abe could scramble to his feet.
The latter rushed forward and grabbed the visitor's hand.

"Mr. Cohen," he cried, "what a pleasure this is! I congratulate you!"

Mr. Cohen withdrew his hand from Abe's cordial grasp.

"You congradulate _me_, hey?" he said, with slow and ironic emphasis.
"Mawruss Perlmutter _also_ congradulates me--what?" He fixed the unhappy
Morris with a terrible glare. "Don't congradulate _me_," he went on.
"Congradulate Ike Feinsilver and Beckie Cohen." He gathered force as he
proceeded. "Fools!" he continued in a rapid crescendo. "Meddlers! You
spill my blood! You ruin me! I'm a millionaire, you tell Feinsilver.
I've got nothing to do with my money but that I should throw it away in