"What do you think of him now?" Philip demanded. "Ain't he a good-looking young feller?"
Marcus shrugged in a non-committal manner.
"Look what a bright eye he got it," Philip insisted. "You could tell by looking at him only that he comes from a good family."
"He looks a boy like any other boy," said Marcus.
"But even if no one would told you, Marcus, you could see from his forehead yet—and the big head he's got it—you could see that somewheres is Rabonim in the family."
"Yow!" Marcus exclaimed. "You could just so much see from his head that his grandfather is a rabbi as you could see from his hands that his father is a crook." He turned impatiently away. "So instead you should be talking a lot of nonsense, Philip, you should set the boy to work sweeping the floor," he continued. "Also for a beginning we would start him in at three dollars a week, and if the boy gets worth it pretty soon we could give him four."
In teaching his nephew the English language Philip Scheikowitz adopted no particular system of pedagogy, but he combined the methods of Ollendorf, Chardenal, Ahn and Polatkin so successfully that in a few days Joseph possessed a fairly extensive vocabulary. To be sure, every other word was acquired at the cost of a clump over the side of the head, but beyond a slight ringing of the left ear that persisted for nearly six months the Polatkin method of instruction vindicated itself, and by the end of the year Joseph's speech differed in no way from that of his employers.
"Ain't it something which you really could say is wonderful the way that boy gets along?" Philip declared to his partner, as the first anniversary of Joseph's landing approached. "Honestly, Marcus, that boy talks English like he would be born here already."
"Sure, I know," Marcus agreed. "He's got altogether too much to say for himself. Only this morning he tells me he wants a raise to six dollars a week."
"Could you blame him?" Philip asked mildly. "He's doing good work here, Marcus."