"I got to change here," he announced; "but when I see you again, Perlmutter, I would tell you what you are." "I don't got to tell you what you are, Kleiman," Morris concluded as he opened his evening paper. "You know only too well." "_Rosher!_" Kleiman hissed as he hurled himself into the mob of passengers that blocked the exit. Morris nodded sardonically and commenced to read his paper. He desisted immediately, however, when his eye fell upon a cut accompanying Felix Geigermann's display advertisement. It was a beaded marquisette costume, made in obvious imitation of one of Potash & Perlmutter's leaders; and the retail price quoted by Geigermann was precisely one dollar less than Potash & Perlmutter's lowest wholesale figure. "That's some of Harkavy's work," Morris muttered; and for the remainder of the journey he was once more plunged in the gloomiest cogitation. Almost automatically he alighted at the Brooklyn Bridge and boarded a Madison Street Car; and it was not until the jolting, old-fashioned vehicle had nearly reached its eastern terminus that he discerned the house number furnished to him by Steuermann. He hurried to the rear platform and jumped to the street, where he collided violently with a short, bearded person. "Excuse me!" Morris cried; then he recognized his victim. "Harkavy!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" "I am coming to say good-by to a friend," Harkavy replied with some show of confusion. "I got to go to Chicago to-morrow." "Chicago!" Morris repeated. "Why, what are you doing in Chicago, Harkavy?" "I am--now--going to got a job out there," Harkavy replied--"a very good job." Morris drew his former assistant cutter to the sidewalk. He had temporarily forgotten the object of his visit to the lower East Side in the sudden conception of an idea, which was no less than the rehiring of Harkavy. "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. Morris whistled. "Well," he said after a pause of some seconds, "put off going until to-morrow anyhow. Maybe we could fix up to give you the six hundred dollars anyhow." Harkavy remained silent and Morris clapped him on the shoulder. "If people is so anxious to get you that they pay you a big lot of money like that, Harkavy, you could keep 'em waiting anyhow one day. Come round and see us to-morrow morning at nine o'clock, wouldn't you?"