Then he
said slowly, and with a note of sadness in his voice:
"Do you wonder, now, my boy, why I touch my hat to His
Excellency?"
CHAPTER II
All the way up Broadway he kept up his good-natured tirade,
railing at the extravagance of the age, at the costly dinners,
equipages, dress of the women, until we reached the foot of the
dilapidated flight of brown-stone steps leading to the front door
of his home on Fifteenth Street. Here a flood of gas light from
inside a shop in the basement brought into view the figure of a
short, squat, spectacled little man bending over a cutting-table,
a pair of shears in his hand.
"Isaac is still at work," he cried. "If we were not so late we'd
go in and have a word with him. Now there's a man who has solved
the problem, my boy. Nobody will ever coax Isaac Cohen up to Fifth
Avenue and into a 'By appointment to His Majesty' kind of a tailor
shop. Just pegs away year after year--he was here long before I
came--supporting his family, storing his mind with all sorts of
rare knowledge.
Pages:
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43