The wailing ceased, but Enrico remained seated, his hands still
clutching his bushy hair, while his large brown eyes stared blankly from
a face as white as a pierrot.

"What's the matter?" Morris repeated.

"His bank busted on him," said Nathan Schenkman, the shipping clerk.

"His bank!" Morris cried. "What bank?"

"It ain't a regular bank," Nathan explained. "He is giving his money to
an Italiener which he calls himself a banker, Mr. Perlmutter; and to-day
when he is going there to get him money the feller's store is locked.
Nobody knows where he went to at all. The clerks also is gone."

"Is that right, Henry?" Morris asked.

Enrico nodded his head without removing his hands from his hair.

"There is a big crowd of loafers around the store," Nathan continued,
"which they are saying they would kill the feller if they get him, so
Henry comes back here on account he ain't that kind, Mr. Perlmutter.
Henry is a decent feller, Mr. Perlmutter."

Morris looked pityingly at his cutter, who continued to stare at the
floor in stony despair.

"Might you could do something to get him his money back maybe, Mr.
Perlmutter?" Nathan said.