The Jew started as he heard these words.
It meant so much to him, and so much to the man for whom he was working, as well as the little mite of a child who was waiting for the death of its mother in the upper ward.
Little did Annie Standish know that in the mansion on Fifth avenue that day a great funeral had been held, and that the father she had hoped to see had given up his fight, and that George Benson followed him to his grave as the only mourner. Little did she realize that a gigantic scheme was afloat to ruin her child and to make her life of no value. She was too sick to realize, even if it had been told her, and could only now and then open her eyes and look at the good Mrs. Higgins, who had followed her over, and to squeeze the red hand of her friend, Biddy Roan.
As Mr. Arkwright left her the good man felt that she was not long for this world, and that she would leave her child soon, but his heart beat happily when he thought that for the little one there were happier days, as there was lots of money for her, but little Helen was too young to know what money meant.
As the good Arkwright called out his commands to the attendants he spied the Jew.
“You here yet?” said he slowly.
“Yes, I’ve been talking to Jim. I hope you don’t mind. I brought him the prayer book his mother sent him.”
“Oh, no, I don’t mind, but it’s a new business for you, that’s all, Nathans.”
“Not so new,” growled the other, a guilty flush rising to his forehead. “I have always felt for these poor fellows over here, but have never known of one before.
“But have you ever heard anything of the woman you were looking for, the poor one with a wealthy father?”