lease this time," Johnny hastily assured him. 

 "Then that is good," gruffly assented Ersten with a trace of a sarcastic snarl. 

 "Heinrich Schnitt," remarked Johnny. 

 That name was an open sesame. Louis Ersten stopped immediately with his coat half-off. 

 "So-o-o!" he ejaculated, surprised into a German exclamation that he had long since deliberately laid aside. "What is it about Heinrich?" 

 "I saw him at Coney Island last night. He doesn't look well." 

 "He don't work. It makes him sick!" Ersten's voice was as gruff as ever; but Johnny, watching narrowly, saw that he was concerned, nevertheless. 

 "His eyes are bad," went on Johnny, "but I think he would like to come back to work." 

 "Did he say it?" asked Ersten with a haste which betrayed the eagerness he did not want to show. 

 "Not exactly," admitted Johnny, "but if he knew that he could have a workroom where there is a better light I know he would like to come. His eyes are bad, you know." 

 "I said it makes him sick not to work," insisted Ersten. "If he wants to come he knows the way." 

 "His job's waiting for him, isn't it?" 

 "In this place, yes. In no other place. I don't move my shop to please my coat cutter—even if he is the best in New York and a boy that come over from the old country with me in the same ship, and his word as good as gold money. It's like I told Heinrich when he left: If he comes back to me he comes back here—in this place. Are his eyes very bad?" 

 "Not very," judged Johnny. "He must take care of them though." 

 "Sure he must," agreed Ersten. "We're getting old. Thirty-seven years we worked together. I stood up for Heinrich at his wedding and he stood up for me at mine. He's a stubborn assel!" 

 "That's the trouble," mused Johnny, "He said he wouldn't work in this shop any more." 

 "Here must he come—in this place!" reiterated Ersten, instantly stern; and he walked sturdily away, removing his coat. 

 Johnny found Heinrich Schnitt weeding onions, 

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