"Don't take it so particular, Phil," Morris enjoined.
"I ain't got it all day to sit here in this chair."
"All right, Mr. Perlmutter, all right," Phil cried, and in less than three minutes, powdered, oiled and combed, Morris climbed out of the chair. His coat was in waiting, held by a diminutive Italian brushboy, but Morris waved his hand impatiently.
"My vest," he demanded. "I don't put my coat on under my vest."
The brushboy turned to the vacant row of hooks.
"No gotta da vest," he said.
"What!" Morris gasped.
"You didn't have no vest on, did you, Mr. Perlmutter?" the proprietor asked.
"Sure I had a vest," Morris cried. "Where is it?"
On the wall hung a sign which advised customers to check their clothing with the cashier or no responsibility would be assumed by the management, and it was to this notice that the proprietor pointed before answering.