He
began to realize, too, that both he and Ruth had been swept off
their feet by their emotions. MacFarlane, the elder Breen, and now
Peter, had all either openly condemned his course or had given it
scant encouragement. There was nothing to go new but go home and
tell Ruth. Then, after the funeral was over, he would have another
talk with MacFarlane.
He had reached the cool air of the street, and stood hesitating
whether to cross the Square on his way to the ferry, or to turn
down the avenue, when the door of Isaac Cohen's shop opened, and
the little tailor put out his head.
"I have been waiting for you." he said in a measured voice. "Come
inside."
Jack was about to tell him that he must catch a train, when
something in the tailor's manner and the earnestness with which he
spoke, made the young fellow alter his mind and follow him.
The little man led the way through the now darkened and empty
shop, lighted by one gas jet--past the long cutting counter
flanked by shelves bearing rolls of cloth and paper patterns,
around the octagon stove where the irons were still warm, and
through the small door which led into his private room.
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