, that is a credit to you in every way, and I
can't help thinking that he's wasting his time and his talents in my
father's place of business."

"He is, hey?" said Zwiebel. "Well, he ain't wasting none of your old
man's time, Rothman, and he ain't wasting none of his money, neither."

"That's just the point," Ferdy went on. "I can't stand by and see you
wronged any longer. Not only is my father getting the service of a more
than competent salesman for nothing, but he's having the use of your
five thousand dollars as well. Disgraceful, that's what I call it."

Zwiebel gazed at him earnestly for a minute.

"Say, lookyhere, Rothman," he said at length, "what monkey business are
you trying to do?"

"I'm not trying to do any monkey business at all," Ferdy cried with a
great show of righteous indignation. "I'm doing this because I feel
that it's the only proper thing. What you want to do now is to take
Milton out of the old man's place and find him a job with some other
cloak and suit concern. That boy could command his twenty-five a week
anywhere. Then, of course, the old man would have to cough up the five
thousand."

Zwiebel nodded his head slowly.

"You're a pretty good son, Rothman," he commented, "I must say. But,
anyhow, you ain't very previous with your advice, because I made up my
mind this morning already that that's what I would do, anyhow."

He lit a cigar and puffed deliberately.

"And now, Rothman," he said, "if you would excuse me, I got business to
attend to."

"Just one word more," Ferdy cried. "My father has got a girl working
for him by the name of Levy, and I think if you knew what kind of girl
she is, you wouldn't want Milton to go with her any more."

Zwiebel rose from his chair and his eyes blazed.

"You dirty dawg!" he roared. "Out--out from my place!"

He grabbed the collar of Ferdy's coat together with a handful of his
curly hair, and with a well-directed kick he propelled the budding
advocate through the office doorway. After a minute Ferdy picked
himself up and ran to the stairway. There he paused and shook his fist
at Zwiebel.

"I'll make you sweat for this!" he bellowed.

Zwiebel laughed raucously.

"Say something more about that young lady," he cried, "and I'll kick
you to the subway yet."

It was nearly half-past twelve when Charles Zwiebel entered the
sample-room of Levy Rothman & Co., on Eighteenth Street. He descried
Milton in his shirt sleeves extolling the merits of o