"What for a good job?" Morris asked. "Twenty dollars a week?"
Harkavy nodded.
"A little more," he said—"twenty-five."
"Schon gut," Morris declared; "then you wouldn't got to go at all, because we ourselves would give you thirty."
"I moost go," Harkavy said, shaking his head; "my fare is paid."
"Pay 'em back the fare," Morris insisted—"we would see you wouldn't lose it."
Again Harkavy shook his head.
"I got a bonus too," he declared—"a thousand rubles."
"What are you talking about, rubles?" Morris said impatiently. "You ain't a greenhorn no longer. Do you mean a thousand dollars?"
"Six hundred dollars—about," Harkavy replied.