t it now," and the little tailor
purred softly.

"If you had pressed out his morals, Isaac, it would have helped some."

"They didn't need it. He was a very quiet young man and very polite; not
so fat, or so red or so rich, as he is now. I saw him the other day in
our bank. You see," and he winked slyly at Jack, "these grand people
must borrow sometimes, like the rest of us; but he never remembers me
any more." Isaac paused for a moment as if the reminiscence had
recalled some amusing incident. When he continued his face had a broad
smile--"and I must say, too, that he always paid his bills. Once, when
he was afraid he could not pay, he wanted to bring the coat back, but I
wouldn't let him. Oh, yes, a very nice young man, Mr. Arthur Breen," and
the tailor's plump body shook with suppressed laughter.

"You know, of course, that he is this young man's uncle," said Peter,
laying his hand affectionately on Jack's shoulder.

"Oh, yes, I know about it. I saw the likeness that first day you came
in," he continued, nodding to Jack. "It was one of the times when your
sister, the magnificent Miss Grayson was here, Mr. Grayson." Isaac
always called her so, a merry twinkle in his eye when he said it, but
with a face and voice showing nothing but the deepest respect; at
which Peter would laugh a gentle laugh in apology for his sister's
peculiarities, a dislike of little tailors being one of them--this
little tailor especially.

"And now, Mr. Breen, I hope you will have better luck," Isaac said,
rising from his chair and holding out his hand.

"But you are not going, Isaac," protested Peter.

"Yes, this young gentleman, I see, is in a good deal of trouble and I
cannot help him much, so I will go away," and with a wave of his pudgy
hand he shut the door behind him and trotted downstairs to his shop.

Jack waited until the sound of his retreating footsteps assured the
Jew's permanent departure, then he turned to Peter.

"I did not want to say too much before Mr. Cohen, but Uncle Arthur's
refusal has upset me completely. I could not have believed it of him.
You must help me somehow, Uncle Peter. I don't mean with your own money;
you have not got it to spare--but so I can get it somewhere. I must have
it, and I can't rest until I do get it."

"Why, my dear boy! Is it so bad as that? I thought you were joking."

"I tried to joke about it while Mr. Cohen was here, but he saw through
it, I know, from the way he spoke: but this r