Cohen to enter the ten dollars cut glass in the right place."

"Don't worry, Abe," Morris cried, as he started for the elevator. "When
the time comes we should post it in the ledger, if we ain't opened a new
account in Bridgetown, Pa., I would pay for it myself."

Ten minutes later he entered the Twenty-third Street subway station en
route to Canal Street, and no sooner had he bought his ticket than his
enthusiasm began to wane. After all, he reflected as he boarded the
train, ten dollars' worth of cut glass seemed rather extravagant when
one considered the size of an order that in the most favourable
circumstances might emanate from a store in Bridgetown. Indeed, as the
train pulled into the Eighteenth Street station he had come to believe
that seven dollars and fifty cents would be a generous price, and even
this figure commenced to look huge as Fourteenth Street drew near. At
Astor Place, Morris decided that five dollars' worth of cut glass would
be more appropriate for a widow. When the guard announced the next stop
as Bleecker Street, however, it occurred to Morris that the
manufacturers of quadruple plate were producing some very artistic
effects in knives, forks and spoons, which in appearance were
undistinguishable from sterling silver; and the train was leaving Spring
Street when Morris bethought himself of a certain _bonbonnière_ that had
cost Mrs. Perlmutter precisely four dollars at a dry-goods store. He
distinctly recalled examining the trade-mark, to which were affixed the
words "triple plate."

During the short walk from the Canal Street station to Marcus Flachs's
place of business, he wondered vaguely if there were such a thing as
double plate, and when at last he opened the door of the pawnbroker's
sales store in question he approached the counter with his mind fully