“Heinrich Schnitt,” remarked Johnny.

That name was an open sesame.  Louis Ersten stopped immediately with his coat half-off.

“So-o-o!” he ejaculated, surprised into a German exclamation that he had long since deliberately laid aside.  “What is it about Heinrich?”

“I saw him at Coney Island last night.  He doesn’t look well.”

“He don’t work.  It makes him sick!” Ersten’s voice was as gruff as ever; but Johnny, watching narrowly, saw that he was concerned, nevertheless.

“His eyes are bad,” went on Johnny, “but I think he would like to come back to work.”

“Did he say it?” asked Ersten with a haste which betrayed the eagerness he did not want to show.

“Not exactly,” admitted Johnny, “but if he knew that he could have a workroom where there is a better light I know he would like to come.  His eyes are bad, you know.”

“I said it makes him sick not to work,” insisted Ersten.  “If he wants to come he knows the way.”

“His job’s waiting for him, isn’t it?”

“In this place, yes.  In no other place.  I don’t move my shop to please my coat cutter—­even if he is the best in New York and a boy that come over from the old country with me in the same ship, and his word as good as gold money.  It’s like I told Heinrich when he left:  If he comes back to me he comes back here—­in this place.  Are his eyes very bad?”

“Not very,” judged Johnny.  “He must take care of them though.”

“Sure he must,” agreed Ersten.  “We’re getting old.  Thirty-seven years we worked together.  I stood up for Heinrich at his wedding and he stood up for me at mine.  He’s a stubborn assel!”

“That’s the trouble,” mused Johnny, “He said he wouldn’t work in this shop any more.”

“Here must he come—­in this place!” reiterated Ersten, instantly stern; and he walked sturdily away, removing his coat.

Johnny found Heinrich Schnitt weeding onions, picking out each weed with minute care and petting the tender young bulbs through their covering of soft earth as he went along.  Mama Schnitt, divided into two bulges by an apron-string and wearing a man’s broad-brimmed straw hat, stood placidly at the end of the row for company.

“Good morning, Mr. Schnitt,” said Johnny cheerfully.  “I have just come from Ersten’s.  He wants you to come back.”

“Did he say it?” asked Heinrich with no disguise of his eagerness.

“Not exactly,” admitted Johnny, “but he said that you are the best coat cutter in New York and that your job’s waiting for you.”

“I know it,” asserted Heinrich.  “Is he going to move?”

“Not just yet,” was the diplomatic return.  “He will after you go back to work, I think.”

“I never work in that place again,” announced the old man with a sigh.  “I said it.”

“That shop isn’t light enough, is it?” suggested the messenger.

“There is no light and no room,” agreed Heinrich.