"A gentleman wants to see you, Mr. Potash," she said. "He wouldn't give his name." Abe cleared his throat with an effort. "Tell him he should come right in," he croaked; and a moment later a tall personage, clad in a fur overcoat and wearing a freshly ironed silk hat, appeared in the doorway. "Is this Mr. Potash?" he asked in rounded, oratorical tones. Abe nodded. For a moment he was bereft of speech and he jerked his head sideways in the direction of his partner. "This is Mr. Perlmutter," he said at length--"my partner." "How do you do, sir?" the visitor replied as he seized Morris's clammy palm in a warm embrace. "Take a seat," Morris murmured, dragging forth a chair; and the stranger sat down deliberately. "Well, sir," Abe asked, "what could we do for you?" "Mr. Potash," the visitor began, "every merchant is at tames confronted with a situation which demands a few appropriate remarks." Abe nodded and mopped tentatively at his dewy forehead. "But how many are there," the visitor continued, "who can do justice to the occasion? For instance, Mr. Perlmutter, you are asked at a charitable meeting to discuss the question of restricting immigration. I ask you candidly, Mr. Perlmutter, would you feel competent to stand upon your feet and----" Suddenly Abe jumped to his feet. "Excuse me, my dear sir," he cried. "Wouldn't you smoke a cigar?" Morris was nearest the safe and he, too, leaped from his chair. "Never mind the safe, Mawruss," Abe said, flapping his right hand excitedly. "I bought some while I was out just now." [Illustration: "Mr. Potash," the visitor began, "every merchant is at times confronted with a situation which demands a few appropriate remarks"] He handed a gold-banded, Bismarck-size cigar to the visitor, who nodded a dignified acknowledgment and immediately struck a match. "Yes, Mr. Perlmutter," he went on, "as I was saying, such a topic as the restriction of immigration would embarrass even an experienced speaker." He paused and cleared his throat impressively. "Now, I have here," he said, exploring the capacious pockets of his overcoat, "a work entitled 'A Quarter of a Century in Congress,' by the Honourable Lucius J. Howell, which, gentlemen, is issued upon subscription only, in half morocco or crushed levant at a hitherto unheard-of price." Abe ceased mopping his brow and turned a terrible glare upon the book canvasser. "What!" he roared. "A book agent?" Once more he jumped to his feet. "Out!" he bellowed. "Out from my office, you dirty loafer!" The book agent scowled and replaced the bound dummy in his pocket. "With a high-grade selling proposition like this, Mr. Potash," he said, "you should be careful of your language." "Mawruss," Abe cried, "what the devil do you mean letting in a feller like this?" "What d'ye mean, letting him in?" Morris retorted. "Did I tell Miss Cohen she should show him in?"