The Competitive Nephew
Aaron," he admitted; "but the second week I was out of Castle Garden my mother, selig, sends me to night school, and they don't learn you birds in night school, Aaron. But, anyhow, Aaron, what's the use we should quarrel about it? If you want we should pay the boy five dollars a week—all right. I'm sure if he's worth three he's worth five. Ain't it? And what's more, Aaron, if the boy shows he takes an interest we would give him soon a raise of a couple of dollars. We ain't small." 

 "I know you ain't, Max," said Aaron, "otherwise I wouldn't bring the boy here at all." 

 He looked proudly toward the rear of the showroom where Philip was examining the ticketed garments under the supervision of Sam Zaretsky. 

 "The boy already takes an interest, Max," he said; "I bet yer he would know your style-numbers by to-night already." 

 For half an hour longer Sam Zaretsky explained the sample line to Philip, and at length he handed the boy a feather duster, and returned to the front of the showroom. 

 "The boy is all right, Aaron," he said. "A good, smart boy, Max, and he ain't afraid to open his mouth, neither." 

 "I bet yer he ain't," Aaron replied, as Philip approached with a sample garment in one hand and the feather duster in the other. 

 "Look, Mr. Zaretsky," he said, "here's one of your style twenty-twenty-two with a thirty-twenty-two ticket on to it." 

 Sam examined the garment and stared at his partner. 

 "The boy is right, Max," he said. "We got the wrong ticket on that garment." 

 For one brief moment Aaron glanced affectionately at his nephew, and then he voiced his pride and admiration in a paroxysm of coughing that made Miss Meyerson come running from the office. 

 "What's the matter?" she asked. "Couldn't I do something?" 

 For almost five minutes Aaron rocked and wheezed in his chair. At length, when he seemed to be at the point of suffocation, Miss Meyerson slapped him on the back, and with a final gasp he recovered his breath. 

 "Thanks, much obliged," he said, as he wiped his streaming eyes. 

 "You're sure you don't want a doctor?" Miss Meyerson said. 


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