He was not of the type that submits to being manhandled and browbeaten into purchasing cast-off garments.

But, as he stood hesitant and uncertain within the narrow radius of the gas-lit window, one of the barkers found sufficient courage to invite him within.

And, to the utter amazement of the alert salesman, Whitmore entered the store.
The proprietor of the place, a stooped, be-whiskered man who spoke with a pronounced Hebraic accent, came forward to wait personally on this elegant customer.

But he found that no especial skill was required to consummate a sale.

Whitmore selected an old, dilapidated suit, a worn coat, an old slouch hat, and a pair of heavy shoes, and almost caused the beaming merchant to die of heart failure by paying the first price demanded of him.
"It's for an amateur theatrical performance," Whitmore explained to the proprietor, who was unable to hide his surprise that a customer of such seeming prosperity should invest in these cast-off garments.
With the bundle containing the clothes under his arm, Whitmore returned to Broadway and entered one of the hotels.