"It is not," he confessed.
"Why don't you go about under your own name?"
There was a moment's silence. A sudden understanding leapt into the girl's face.
"Wait," she cried—"the dynamo downstairs, and those men who came here to search! What is it you do in that back room, eh?"
There was still silence. She passed her arms suddenly through his.
"Be sensible," she urged. "I am not a fool. I know that grandfather loves money and loves making it. So do I. If he lets you work secretly in his back room, it must be because you make money there. Well, why not? You need have no fear of me. Tell me the truth? I shall be faithful. I do not mind that you are not a Jew. I will marry you all the same. I like you better than any of the Jews I know."
Harvey Grimm wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It was a situation, this, for which no foresight could have provided.
"And I," Abraham Letchowiski thundered, "swear before the God of my fathers that you shall marry none but a Jew!"
The girl made a face at him and dragged him back into his easy chair.
"Don't you be a silly old man," she enjoined. "Times have changed since you were young. A girl has to have a husband, doesn't she? You wouldn't have me marry any of those skimpers that come around here?"