when, for the third time, the doorway framed a visitor.

"Mr. Potash?" the newcomer asked timidly. He was a short, slender man,
past middle age, clad in a shabby overcoat, half threadbare, and a soft
felt hat of a dingy, weatherbeaten appearance.

"_Nu!_" Abe growled. "What is it now?"

"Mr. Potash," the stranger continued, "I called to see you at the
request of Mr. Geigermann. My name is Steuermann." Abe essayed to rise,
but his knees would not support him and he waved his hand feebly to a
chair that Morris dragged forward.

"Mr. Steuermann," Morris said, "you are coming up here to see us when we
could much better afford it if we would go down and see you."

"Why, gentlemen, it was no inconvenience for me," Steuermann replied. "I
am on my way home."

"God would bless you for it, anyway!" Abe declared fervently; and
Steuermann blushed.

"Now, Mr. Potash," he protested, "I am not here for compliments. I've
come to see what we can all do for this poor fellow. I'm a little late,
because I was waiting for a report from my lawyers."

"Your lawyers!" Abe exclaimed. "Why, we already hired Henry D. Feldman."

"So I believe," Steuermann replied; "and he has consented to act in
conjunction with my lawyers--Chitty, Schwarzstein & Munjoy. I shall