Johnny Gamble was waiting at the store when Louis Ersten came down the next morning. Mr. Ersten walked in with a portentous frown on his brow and began to take off his coat as he strode back toward the cutting room. He frowned still more deeply as Johnny confronted him.
"Again!" he exclaimed, looking about him in angry despair as if he had some wild idea of calling a porter. "First it's Lofty; then it's some slick real estate schemer; then it's you! I will not sell the lease!"
"I won't say lease this time," Johnny hastily assured him.
"Then that is good," gruffly assented Ersten with a trace of a sarcastic snarl.
"Heinrich Schnitt," remarked Johnny.
That name was an open sesame. Louis Ersten stopped immediately with his coat half-off.
"So-o-o!" he ejaculated, surprised into a German exclamation that he had long since deliberately laid aside. "What is it about Heinrich?"
"I saw him at Coney Island last night. He doesn't look well."
"He don't work. It makes him sick!" Ersten's voice was as gruff as ever; but Johnny, watching narrowly, saw that he was concerned, nevertheless.
"His eyes are bad," went on Johnny, "but I think he would like to come back to work."