"Excuse me!" Morris cried; then he recognized his victim. "Harkavy!" he
exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I am coming to say good-by to a friend," Harkavy replied with some show
of confusion. "I got to go to Chicago to-morrow."

"Chicago!" Morris repeated. "Why, what are you doing in Chicago,
Harkavy?"

"I am--now--going to got a job out there," Harkavy replied--"a very good
job."

Morris drew his former assistant cutter to the sidewalk. He had
temporarily forgotten the object of his visit to the lower East Side in
the sudden conception of an idea, which was no less than the rehiring of
Harkavy.

"What for a good job?" Morris asked. "Twenty dollars a week?"

Harkavy nodded.

"A little more," he said--"twenty-five."

"_Schon gut_," Morris declared; "then you wouldn't got to go at all,
because we ourselves would give you thirty."

"I moost go," Harkavy said, shaking his head; "my fare is paid."

"Pay 'em back the fare," Morris insisted--"we would see you wouldn't