"That's Sol Klinger," Morris exclaimed. "He said he would let me know at ten o'clock what this Interstate Copper opened at."
He darted for the telephone in the rear of the store, and when he returned his face was wreathed in smiles.
"It has come up to five already," he cried. "We make it twenty-five hundred dollars."
While Morris was talking over the 'phone Abe had been trying to bring his courage to the sticking point, and the confession was on the very tip of his tongue when the news which Morris brought forced it back again. He rose wearily to his feet.
"I guess you think we're getting rich quick, Mawruss," he said, and repaired to the bookkeeper's desk in the firm's private office. For the next two hours and a half he dodged about, with one eye on Morris and the other on the rear entrance to the store. He expected the silk to arrive at any moment, and he knew that when it did the jig would be up. It was with a sigh of relief that he saw Morris go out to lunch at half-past twelve, and almost immediately afterward Hill, Arkwright & Thompson's truckman arrived with the goods. Abe superintended the disposal of the packing cases in the cutting-room, and he was engaged in
opening them when Miss Cohen, the bookkeeper, entered.
"Mr. Potash," she said, "Mr. Perlmutter wants to see you in the show-room."
"Did he come back from lunch so soon?" Abe asked.
"He came in right after he went out," she replied. "I guess he must be sick. He looks sick."
Abe turned pale.