Marks Pasinsky.

"Pasinsky used to sell 'em both goods, y'understand; but fortunately,
Mawruss, he sends 'em a dozen coffee spoons, so Asimof takes six and
Mrs. Gladstein takes six."

"It's a good thing Pasinsky didn't send 'em a single piece of cut
glass," Morris said thoughtfully.

"It wouldn't make no difference to Asimof," Abe said. "He would of
allowed Mrs. Gladstein half cost price, give or take. He's a pretty
square feller, Asimof is, Mawruss, and he said he would give a look in
here this afternoon. We needn't be afraid from him, Mawruss. He's A
number one up to two hundred and fifty dollars, thirty days net."

Morris nodded again and walked slowly toward the cutting room, while his
partner sat down to read the trade news in the _Daily Cloak and Suit
Record_. Morris had hardly reached the doorway, however, when a strident
shout caused him to retrace his steps in a hurry.

"What's the matter now?" he exclaimed; but Abe was incapable of
articulate speech. Instead he held out the paper and made noises
appropriate to an apopletic seizure, which Morris construed as a request
to look at something of more than ordinary interest.

"Where, where?" he demanded, and Abe stuck a trembling forefinger
through the printed page. As nearly as the torn edges of the paper would
permit, Morris read the following paragraph:

BRIDGETOWN, PA.--D. GLADSTEIN'S STORE CLOSED. The stock and