"I don't promise him I move!" bristled Ersten.
"We understand that," soothed Johnny, "all of us. Schnitt, you'll take some of Mr. Ersten's work home with you from this place, won't you?"
"Sure, I do that," consented Schnitt eagerly. "Louis, what is in the shop?"
Ersten had a struggle of his own.
"All what was in when you left," he bravely confessed. "That coat for Mrs. Follison gives me trouble for a week!"
"She's got funny shoulders," commented Schnitt with professional impersonality. "It's the left one. You cut it—Let me see it."
There was a sibilant sound as of many suppressed sighs of relief when Heinrich walked into the cutting room, but no man grinned or gave more than a curt nod of greeting—for the forbidding eye of Louis Ersten glared fiercely upon them. He strode across to the table held sacred to himself and spread down a piece of cloth, bounded by many curves. Heinrich Schnitt gave it but one comprehensive glance.
"Na, na, na!" he shrilly commented. "Here it is wrong!" And, grabbing up a slice of chalk, he made a deft swoop toward the material. Suddenly his arm stayed in mid air and he laid down the chalk with a muscular effort. "I think I take this home," he firmly announced.
"Heinrich, you come back after the work. Just now we go with Mr. Gamble to Schoppenvoll's and have a glass of Rheinthranen!" Ersten said.
"The Rheinthranen!" repeated Heinrich in awe; and for the first time his eyes moistened. "Louis, we was always friends!" And they shook hands.