“What affidavit?” Abe asked.

“Why, the one Weinschenck is going to draw when he comes back from lunch, of course,” Max replied.

“Sure it’s true,” said Abe.

“All right,” Max concluded briskly.

“Now give me a check for fifty dollars for my fees, five dollars for a surety company bond, and five dollars sheriff’s fees, and I’ll get out a replevin order on the strength of that affidavit in half an hour, and have a deputy around to the store at three o’clock to transfer the goods from Hymie to you.”

“Sixty dollars is pretty high for a little thing like that, ain’t it, Max?” said Hymie.

“High?” Max cried indignantly.  “High?  Why, if you wasn’t a lodge brother of mine, Hymie, I wouldn’t have stirred a hand for less than a hundred.”

Thus rebuked, Abe paid over the sixty dollars, and Hymie and he went back to the store.  Precisely at three a deputy sheriff entered the front door and flashed a gold badge as big as a dinner-plate.  His stay was brief, and in five minutes he had relieved Abe of all his spare cigars and departed, leaving only a certified copy of the replevin order and a strong smell of whisky to signalize the transfer of the Empire gowns from Hymie to Abe.

Hardly had he banged the door behind him when a messenger boy entered and handed a telegram to Abe.

“Ain’t shipped no goods but the 4022’s,” it read.  “Have wired Lowenstein to return the 4022s.  MORRIS.”

“Fine!  Fine!” Abe exclaimed.  He tipped the boy a dime and was about to acquaint Hyman with the good news, when another messenger boy entered and delivered a second telegram to Abe.  It read as follows: 

“Lowenstein wires he insists on delivery entire order complete, otherwise he will sue.  What shall I wire him?  MORRIS.”

Abe seized his hat and dashed down the street to the telegraph office.

“Gimme a blank,” he said to the operator, who handed him a whole padful.  For the next twenty minutes Abe scribbled and tore up by turns until he finally evolved a satisfactory missive.  This he handed to the operator, who read it with a broad grin and passed it back at once.

“Wot d’ye take me for?” he said.  “A bum?  Dere’s ladies in de main office.”

Abe glared at the operator and began again.

“Here,” he said to the operator after another quarter of an hour of scribbling and tearing up, “send this.”

It was in the following form: 

    Don’t send no more goods to Lowenstein
        " " " " wires " nobody

“Fourteen words,” the operator said.  “Fifty-four cents.”

“What’s that?” Abe cried.  “What yer trying to do?  Make money on me?  That ain’t no fourteen words.  That’s nine words.”

“It is, hey?” the operator rejoined.  “Quit yer kiddin’.  Dat’s fourteen words.  Ditto marks don’t go, see?”

“You’re a fresh young feller,” said Abe, paying over fifty-four cents, “and I got a good mind to report you to the head office.”