Finally I wearied of it all, and one afternoon, as we were seated in the restaurant, I picked a quarrel with him
"I don't want your dinners," I burst out, "and I don't want to be watched by you as if I were a recruit in the Russian army and you were my 'little uncle.' I'll pay you what I owe you and leave me alone."
"As if I were uneasy about those few dollars!" he said, ingratiatingly
"I know you are not. That's just it."
He took fire. "What am I after, then? You think I get rich on your work, don't you?"
Our altercation waxed violent. At one point he was about to lapse into a conciliatory tone again, but his dignity prevailed
"I would not keep you if you begged me," he declared. "I hate to deal with an ingrate. But I want my money at once." "I shall pay it to you when work begins."
"No, sirrah. I want it at once." An ugly scene followed. He seized me by my coat lapels and threatened to have me arrested.
Finally the restaurant-keeper and Gussie, the homely finisher girl whom we all respected, made peace between us, and things were arranged more or less amicably
I obtained employment in an "inside" place, a factory owned by twin brothers named Manheimer