"Your man should go with him," Morris insisted. "He and you will not
lose by it."

Morris wrote the address on the back of one of Potash & Perlmutter's
business cards and handed it to her.

"Put on it the table," she said.

"Tell your man," Morris continued, "if he does take this old man to
Steuermann I myself will pay him twenty-five dollars."

Once more he faced the _Rav_, who had sunk again into the chair.

"Will it bring back your son to you if _Tzwee_ Kovalenko dies?" he
asked.

The old man plucked at his beard.

"He was my son, my only son," he said; "my _Kaddish_. A good son he
was."

Mrs. Levin, still at her dishwashing, raised her head and snorted
impatiently.

"Yow--a good son!" she commented in English, "A dirty, lowlife bum he
was. If it wouldn't be that he _ganvered_ a couple bottles wine from a
store he wouldn't of been in the police office at all. He brought it on
himself, mister--believe me."

Morris nodded.