Paasch always began the week by making a pair of boots for the window,
which he sold at half price when the leather had perished. In his
eagerness for work, he had forgotten that Paasch's business was so small.
He looked round with annoyance, realizing that he would never earn the
wages here that he needed for his child. For he usually earned about
fifteen shillings, except in the Christmas season, when trade was brisk.
Then he drew more than a pound. This sum of money, which had formerly
satisfied his wants, now seemed a mere flea-bite.

He looked round with a sudden scorn on the musty shop that had given him
work and food since he was a boy. The sight of the old man, bending over
the last, with his simple, placid face, annoyed him. And he felt a sudden
enmity for this man whose old-fashioned ways had let him grow grey here
like a rat in a hole.

He stared round, wondering if anything could be done to improve the
business. The shop wanted livening up with a coat of paint. He would put
new shelves up, run a partition across, and dress the windows like the
shops down town. In his eager thoughts he saw the dingy shop transformed
under his touch, spick and span, alive with customers, who jostled one
another as they passed in and out, the coin clinking merrily in the till.

He awoke as from a dream, and looked with dismay on the small, grimy shop
keeping pace with its master's old age. Suddenly an idea came into his
head, and he stared at Paasch with a hard, calculating look in his eyes.
Then he got up, and walked abruptly out of the shop. The old German, who
was used to his sudden humours and utter want of manners peered after his
retreating figure with a puzzled look.

Jonah had walked out of the door to look for work. He saw that it was