t girl has got a
headpiece, y'understand, and certainly she took an interest in your
boy. She taught him all he knows, Zwiebel, and while I don't want to
say nothing about it, y'understand, I must got to say that that young
feller thinks a whole lot of Miss Levy, and certainly I think that Miss
Levy somewhat reciprocates him."

"Reciprocates him?" Zwiebel said. "That's where you make a big mistake,
Mr. Feigenbaum. They don't reciprocate him; they reciprocate me,
y'understand. Fifteen dollars every week they reciprocate me for that
boy's wages, and also a whole lot more, too."

"You don't understand me," Feigenbaum declared. "I mean that Miss Levy
seems to think a good deal of Milton, and maybe you don't think Ferdy
Rothman is jealous from them, too? That feller could kill your boy,
Zwiebel, and he done his best to get Rothman to fire him. I know it for
a fact, because I was in there as late as yesterday afternoon and I
heard that young feller tell Rothman that Milton is too fresh and he
should fire him."

"And what did Rothman say?" Zwiebel asked.

"Rothman says that Ferdy should shut up his mouth, that Milton was a
good boy and that Rothman knew what was the matter with Ferdy, and I
knew it, too, Zwiebel. That boy is jealous. Also, Rothman says
something else, what I couldn't understand exactly."

"What was it?"

"He asks Ferdy if he could pick up in the street five thousand dollars
at savings-bank interest."

"'S'enough!" Zwiebel cried. "I heard enough, Feigenbaum. Just wait till
I see that feller Rothman, that's all."

* * * * *

When the train drew up at the Fourteenth Street station Zwiebel plunged
through the crowd without waiting for Feigenbaum and stalked
indignantly to his place of business. When he entered his private
office he found a visitor waiting for him. It was Ferdy Rothman.

"Ah, good-morning, Mr. Zwiebel," Ferdy cried, extending his hand in a
patronizing imitation of Henry D. Feldman. "Glad to see you."

Zwiebel evaded Ferdy's proffered hand and sat down at his desk without
removing his hat.

"Well," he growled, "what d'ye want?"

"I wanted to see you about something personal," Ferdy went on.

"Go ahead," Zwiebel cried; "you tell me something personal first and
I'll tell you something personal afterward what you and your old man
wouldn't like at all."

"Well," Ferdy continued, "I came to see you about Milton. There's a
young man, Mr. Zwiebel