O’Day gave an involuntary start and from under his heavy brows there shot a keen, questioning glance.  “What would you want me to do?” he asked evenly.

“Vell—­vait on de customers, and look over de stock, and buy tings ven dey come in.”

“You certainly cannot be serious, Mr. Kling.  You know nothing about me.  I am an entire stranger and must continue to be.  With the exception of my landlady, who, if she knows my name, forgets it every time she comes up for her rent, there is not a human being in New York to whom I could apply for a reference.  Are you accustomed to pick up strangers out of the street and take them into your shops—­and your homes?” he added, smiling at Kitty, who had been following the conversation closely.

“But you is a different kind of a mans.”

No answer came.  The man was lost in thought.

“Ye’d better think it over, sir,” said Kitty, laying a strong, persuasive hand on his wrist.  “It’s near by, and ye can have your meals early or late as ye plaze, and the work ain’t hard.  My Mike does the liftin’ and two big fat Dutchies helps.”

“But I know nothing about the business, Mrs. Cleary—­nothing about any business, for that matter.  I should only be a disappointment to Mr. Kling.  I would rather keep his friendship and look elsewhere.”

Kitty relaxed her hold of his wrist.  “Then ye have been lookin’ for work?” she asked.  The inquiry sprang hot from her heart.

“I have not, so far, but I shall have to very soon.”

She threw back her head and faced the two men.  “Ye’ll look no further, Mr. O’Day.  You go over to Otto’s and go to work; and it will be to-night after you gets your things stowed away.  And ye’ll pay him ten dollars a week, Otto, for the first month, and more the second if he earns it, which he will.  Now are ye all satisfied, or shall I say it over?”

“One moment, please, Mrs. Cleary.  If I may interrupt,” he laughed, his reserve broken through at last by the friendly interest shown by the strangers about him, “and what will be the hours of my service?” Then, turning to Otto:  “Perhaps you, Mr. Kling, can best tell me.”

“Vot you mean?”

“How early must I come in the morning, and until how late must I stay at night?”

The dealer hesitated, then answered slowly, “In de morning at eight o’clock, and”—­but, seeing a cloud cross O’Day’s face, added:  “Or maybe haf past eight vill do.”

“And at night?”

“Vell—­you can’t tell.  Sometimes it is more late as udder times—­about nine o’clock ven I have packing to do.”

O’Day shook his head.

“Vell, den, say eight o’clock.”

Again O’Day shook his head slowly and thoughtfully as if some insurmountable obstacle had suddenly arisen before him.  Then he said firmly:  “I am afraid I must decline your kind offer, Mr. Kling.  The latest I could stay on any evening is seven o’clock—­some days I might have to leave at six—­certainly no later than half past.  I suppose you have dinner at seven, Mrs. Cleary?”