“Before Monday night.”

“In cash?”

“In cash or something I can get cash on.”

The tailor rose from his seat with a satisfied air—­he had evidently reached the point he had been striving for—­laid the stump of his cigar on the edge of the mantel, crossed the room, fumbled in the side pocket of a coat which hung on a nail in an open closet; drew out a small key; sauntered leisurely to his desk, all the while crooning a tune to himself—­Jack following his every movement, wondering what it all meant, and half regretting that he had not kept on to the ferry instead of wasting his time.  Here he unlocked a drawer, took out a still smaller key—­a flat one this time—­removed some books and a small Barye bronze tiger from what appeared to be a high square table, rolled back the cloth, bringing into view an old-fashioned safe, applied the key and swung back a heavy steel door.  Here, still crooning his song in a low key, dropping it and picking it up again as he moved—­ quite as does the grave-digger in “Hamlet”—­he drew forth a long, flat bundle and handed it to Jack.

“Take them, Mr. Breen, and put them in your inside pocket.  There are ten United States Government bonds.  If these Breen people will not lend you the amount of money you want, take them to Mr. Grayson’s bank.  Only do not tell him I gave them to you.  I bought them yesterday and was going to lock them up in my safe deposit vault, only I could not leave my shop.  Oh, you needn’t look so scared.  They are good,” and he loosened the wrapper.

Jack sprang from his seat.  For a moment he could not speak.

“But, Mr. Cohen!  Do you know I haven’t any security to offer you, and that I have only my salary and—­”

“Have I asked you for any?” Isaac replied with a slight shrug, a quizzical smile crossing his face.

“No—­but—­”

“Ah, then, we will not talk about it.  You are young—­you are hard-working; you left a very rich home on Fifth Avenue to go and live in a dirty hotel in a country village—­all because you were honest; you risked your life to save your employer; and now you want to go into debt to save a friend.  Ah—­you see, I know all about you, my dear Mr. John Breen.  Mr. Grayson has told me, and if he had not, I could read your face.  No—­no—­no—­we will not talk about such things as cent per cent and security.  No—­no—­I am very glad I had the bonds where I could get at them quick.  There now—­ do you run home as fast as you can and tell your friend.  He is more unhappy than anybody.”

Jack had his breath now and he had also made up his mind.  Every drop of blood in his body was in revolt.  Take money from a Jew tailor whom he had not seen half a dozen times; with whom he had no business relations or dealings, or even social acquaintance?

He laid the bonds back on the desk.

“I cannot take them, Mr. Cohen.  I thank you most sincerely, but—­ no—­you must not give them to me.  I—­”