These young fellows have very peculiar
ideas about a good many things,--and this boy is like all the
rest--some of which ought to be knocked out of his head,--your
race, for one thing. He thinks that because you are a Jew that
you--"
Jack uttered a smothered, "Oh, Uncle Peter!" but the old fellow
who now had the tailor in one of his big chairs and was filling a
thin wineglass with a brown liquid (ten years in the wood)--Holker
sent it--kept straight on. "Jack's all right inside, or I wouldn't
love him, but there are a good many things he has got to learn,
and you happen to be one of them."
Cohen lay back in his chair and laughed heartily.
"Do not mind him, Mr. Breen,--do not mind a word he says. He
mortifies me that same way. And now--" here he turned his head to
Peter--"what does he think of my race?"
"Oh! He thinks you are a lot of money-getters and pawnbrokers,
gouging the poor and squeezing the rich."
Jack broke out into a cold perspiration: "Really, Uncle Peter!
Now, Mr. Cohen, won't you please believe that I never said one
word of it," exclaimed Jack in pleading tones, his face expressing
his embarrassment.
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