“Take them, Mr. Breen, and put them in your inside pocket. There are ten United States Government bonds. If these Breen people will not lend you the amount of money you want, take them to Mr. Grayson's bank. Only do not tell him I gave them to you. I bought them yesterday and was going to lock them up in my safe deposit vault, only I could not leave my shop. Oh, you needn't look so scared. They are good,” and he loosened the wrapper.
Jack sprang from his seat. For a moment he could not speak.
“But, Mr. Cohen! Do you know I haven't any security to offer you, and that I have only my salary and—”
“Have I asked you for any?” Isaac replied with a slight shrug, a quizzical smile crossing his face.
“No—but—”
“Ah, then, we will not talk about it. You are young—you are hard-working; you left a very rich home on Fifth Avenue to go and live in a dirty hotel in a country village—all because you were honest; you risked your life to save your employer; and now you want to go into debt to save a friend. Ah—you see, I know all about you, my dear Mr. John Breen. Mr. Grayson has told me, and if he had not, I could read your face. No—no—no—we will not talk about such things as cent per cent and security. No—no—I am very glad I had the bonds where I could get at them quick. There now—do you run home as fast as you can and tell your friend. He is more unhappy than anybody.”
Jack had his breath now and he had also made up his mind. Every drop of blood in his body was in revolt. Take money from a Jew tailor whom he had not seen half a dozen times; with whom he had no business relations or dealings, or even social acquaintance?
He laid the bonds back on the desk.
“I cannot take them, Mr. Cohen. I thank you most sincerely, but—no—you must not give them to me. I—”
Isaac wheeled suddenly and drew himself up. His little mouse eyes were snapping, and his face fiery red.