body; certainly not by a tailor.

"Then give them to Uncle Peter," Jack flung back. "See what he will
say."

"No, I will not give them to your Uncle Peter. It will spoil everything
with me if he knows about it. He always does things for me behind my
back. He never lets me know. Now I shall do something for him behind his
back and not let him know."

"But--"

"There are no buts! Listen to me, young man. I have no son; I have no
grandchild; I live here alone--you see how small it is? Do you know
why?--because I am happiest here. I know what it is to suffer, and I
know what it is for other people to suffer. I have seen more misery in
London in a year than you will see in your whole life. Those ten bonds
there are of no more use to me than an extra coat of paint on that door.
I have many more like them shut up in a box. Almost every day people
come to me for money--sometimes they get it--oftener they do not. I have
no money for beggars, or for idlers, or for liars. I have worked all
my life, and shall to the end--and so must they. Now and then something
happens like this. Now do you understand?"

Again Jack tried to speak. His anger was gone; the pathos in the
Jew's voice had robbed him of all antagonism, but Cohen would allow no
interruptions.

"And now one thing more before I let you speak, And then I am through.
In all the years I have known Mr. Grayson, this is the first time I
have ever been able to help him with the only thing I have that can help
him--my money. If it was five times what you want, he should have it. Do
you hear? Five times!"

Isaac threw himself into his chair and sat with his chin in his hand.
The last few words had come in a dry, choking whisper--as if they had
been pumped from the depths of his heart.

Jack instinctively put out his hand and touched the Jew's knee.

"Will you please forgive me, Mr. Cohen--and will you please listen to
me. I won't tell you a lie. I did feel that way at first--I do not now.
I will take the bonds, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for
them. You will never know how much good they will do; I have hardly
slept since I knew I had to get this money. I am, perhaps, too tired to
think straight, but you must do something for me--you must make it right
with my own conscience. I want to sign something--give you something
as security. I have only one thing in the world and that is some ore
property my father left me in Maryland. At present it is worthless an