SAMUEL GEMBITZ HENRY SCHRIMM
GEMBITZ & SCHRIMM
CLOAKS & SUITS
—West Nineteenth Street New York
Max gazed at the card for five minutes and then he placed it in his waistcoat-pocket.
"So you are out to do us—what?" Max said bitterly.
"What are you talking about—out to do you?" Sam replied. "How could an old-timer like me do three up-to-date fellers like you and Sidney and Lester? I'm a back number, Max. I ain't got gumption enough to make up a whole lot of garments, all in one style, pastel shades, and sell 'em all to a concern which is on its last legs, Max. I couldn't play this here Baytzimmer feller's pool, Max, and I couldn't sit up all hours of the night eating lobsters and oysters and ham and bacon in the Harlem Winter Garden, Max."
He paused to indulge in a malicious grin.
"Furthermore, Max," he continued, "how could a poor, sick old man compete with a lot of healthy young fellers like you boys? I've got Bright's Disease, Max, and I could drop down in the street any minute. And if you don't believe me, Max, you should ask Doctor Eichendorfer. He will tell you the same."
Max made no reply, but took up his hat from the top of Sam's desk.