"Don't stay out long," she said, and Sam nodded.
"I would be back when I am hungry," he replied; "and maybe I would take a look in at Mrs. Krakauer. If you get anxious about me telephone her."
Ten minutes later he called at the cigar store on Lenox Avenue and secured his samples, after which he rang up Mrs. Schrimm.
"Hello, Henrietta!" he shouted, "This is Sam—yes, Sam Gembitz. What is the matter? Nothing is the matter. Huh? Sure, I feel all right. I give you a scare? Why should I give you a scare, Henrietta? Sure, we are old friends; but that ain't the point, Henrietta. I want to ask you you should do me something as a favour. You should please be so good and ring up Mrs. Krakauer, which you should tell her, if Babette rings her up and asks for me any time between now and six o'clock to-night, she should say I was there, but I just left. Did you get that straight? All right. Good-bye."
He heaved a sigh of relief as he paid for the telephone call and pocketed a handful of cheap cigars.
"Don't you want a boy to help you carry them samples, Mr. Gembitz?" the proprietor asked.
"Do I look like I wanted a boy to help me carry samples?" Sam retorted indignantly, and a moment later he swung aboard an eastbound crosstown car.
It was past noon when Sam entered Henry Schrimm's showroom and his face bore a broad, triumphant grin.
"Well, Henry," he shouted, "what did I told you? To a feller which he is knowing how to sell goods there ain't no such things as stickers."
"Did you get rid of 'em?" Henry asked.