Felicia or anybody else thinks."

Jack wheeled about and strode downstairs and into the back room where
the little man sat at his desk looking over some papers. Isaac's hand
was out and he was on his feet before Jack had reached his side.

"Ah!--Mr. Millionaire. And so you have come to tell me some more good
news. Have you sold another mine? I should have looked out to see
whether your carriage did not stop at my door; and now sit down and tell
me what I can do for you. How well you look, and how happy. Ah, it is
very good to be young!"

"What you can do for me is this, Mr. Cohen. I want you to come to our
wedding--will you? I have come myself to ask you," said Jack in all
sincerity.

"So! And you have come yourself." He was greatly pleased; his
face showed it. "Well, that is very kind of you, but let me first
congratulate you. Yes--Mr. Grayson told me all about it, and how lovely
the young lady is. And now tell me, when is your wedding?"

"Next month."

"And where will it be?"

"At Uncle Peter's old home up at Geneseo."

"Oh, at that grand lady's place--the magnificent Miss Grayson." "Yes,
but it is only one night away. I will see that you are taken care of."

The little man paused and toyed with the papers on his desk. His black,
diamond-pointed eyes sparkled and an irrepressible smile hung around his
lips.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Breen--and thank your young lady too. You are
very kind and you are very polite. Yes--I mean it--very polite. And you
are sincere in what you say; that is the best of all. But I cannot go.
It is not the travelling at night--that is nothing. You and your
lady would be glad to see me and that would be worth it all, but the
magnificent Miss Grayson, she would not be glad to see me. You see,
my dear young man"--here the smile got loose and scampered up to his
eyelids--"I am a most unfortunate combination--oh, most unfortunate--for
the magnificent Miss Grayson. If I was only a tailor I might be
forgiven; if I was just a Jew I might be forgiven; but when I am both
a tailor and a Jew"--here the irrepressible went to pieces in a merry
laugh--"don't you see how impossible it is? And you--you, Mr. Breen! She
would never forgive you. 'My friend, Mr. Cohen,' you would have to say,
and she could do nothing. She must answer that she is most glad to see
me--or she might NOT answer, which would be worse. And it is not
her fault. You can't break down the barriers of centuries in a day.
No--n