Morris said nothing, but picked up the silver dish. Examining the polished centre carefully, he discerned the indistinct initials "M. P." almost but not quite effaced by buffing. Undoubtedly it was the same bonbon dish.
He gathered up the tissue paper and carefully arranged it in the box as a bed for the silver dish. Then he put the cover on, and nailed it down.
"Ain't you going to let Mr. Potash see it?" Miss Cohen asked. "He ain't never seen it before, neither, has he?"
Morris frowned.
"I think he has," he replied. "Anyhow, I'm going to send it right uptown by messenger boy."
"Do you think they'll exchange it?" Miss Cohen inquired.
"Oh, I guess it will be put back in stock all right," said Morris, turning away.
The next morning, when Morris entered the store, Abe was busy figuring on the back of a torn envelope.
"Hello, Mawruss!" he cried, looking up. "Ain't it beautiful weather?"