Old Harris groaned. True, his son had been his partner of recent years, but Isaac’s share in the business had been so small that it could hardly have been called a share, save when viewed under a microscope. However, beggars can’t be choosers, so there and then young Harris drew up a temporary agreement--to be presently made permanent in a due and proper manner by a solicitor--under which Isaac undertook to pay his father’s debts (which amounted to a hundred pounds--a large sum for a small tradesman in a humble street), and Mr Harris, on his side, undertook to hand over the control of the shop to Isaac, he himself receiving board, lodging, and a share in the business, on condition he gave as much time to the business as his son had formerly devoted to it. Thus were the tables completely turned on the unlucky provision dealer. By way of showing that he was in earnest, and not being restrained by any false delicacy, Isaac, as soon as he had breakfasted on the following morning, went out in search of a painter. Having found a man, he brought him and his ladder and his paint-pot back with him, and set the man at once to alter the title over the shop window from "Harris & Son" to "Harris & Father." So it came about that when Jim, having received the promised fifty pounds from Koko, walked round to see Mr Harris concerning a suitable tenement wherein he might set up as a surgeon, he found the painter just completing his task, and young Harris, with his hands in his pockets, perkily surveying the alteration. "Hullo!" said Jim, "changes in the firm, I observe." "Yes, doctor," said Isaac; "mine fader, he vos ruined by ’orse-racing, and so it is now my shop, and mine fader, he is my partner." "Don’t quite see how it can be your shop if he is your partner," said Jim. "_He_ vill tell you," said Isaac, indicating the interior of the shop with a dirty forefinger; "he is cleaning the counter. Soon he vill vipe the plates and knives and forks. He is going to vork now as I did used to." And Isaac resumed his occupation of watching the painter with a most truculent and self-satisfied expression on his face. Jim walked into the provision shop. "Morning, Mr Harris." Mr Harris shook his head despondently. "I ain’t Mr ’Arris no longer," he said. "’_E’s_ Mr ’Arris. ’_E’s_ the boss. Ah, doctor," continued the old man, wiping away a tear with his shirt-sleeve, "if I’d a-known this vas goin’ to ’appen--if I’d a-known that velp vos goin’ to buy me up by bettin’ on the ’orses I said vos no good, I----" Mr Harris paused for breath. Jim waited for some interesting old Hebraic curse. But none came. "--I’d never ’ave let ’im see my evenin’ paper. That’s vare ’e got it. I marked the ’orses I vos goin’ to flutter on, and ’e saw ’em and laid accordin’!" "Rather smart!" laughed Jim. "The firm got square with the bookies that way."