Notice the style, the cut, the
quality of the goods. And it's only goin' to cost you fifty-five
dollars."
The clothing man looked at the misshapen thing with eyes that bulged.
"Where is it you been with this suit--in the East River, my friendt?"
he wanted to know.
"I took a walk along Riverside Drive. That's all. I got a strong
guarantee with this suit when I bought it. I'm goin' to give you the
same one I got. It won't shrink or fade and it will wear to beat a
'Pache pup. Oh, you won't make any mistake buyin' this suit."
"You take from me an advice. Unlock that door and get out."
"I can give you better advice than that. Buy this suit right away.
You'll find it's a bargain."
The steady eyes of the Westerner daunted the merchant, but he did not
intend to give up fifty-five dollars without a murmur.
"If you don't right avay soon open that door I call the police. Then
you go to jail, ain't it?"
"How's yore heart, Mr. Bernstein?" asked Clay tenderly.
"What?"
"I'm askin' about yore heart. I don't know as you're hardly strong
enough to stand what I'll do to you if you let a single yelp out of
you. I kinda hate to hurry yore funeral," he added regretfully, still
in his accustomed soft drawl.
The man beside the stool attempted one shout. Instantly Clay filled
his mouth with a bunch of suit samples that had been lying on the desk.
With one arm he held the struggling little man close to his body. With
his foot and the other hand he broke in two a yardstick and fitted the
two parts together.
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