Miss Bailey was so ruffled and disgusted by the course of events that she allowed only the Monitor of the Gold-Fish Bowl to stay with her after school that afternoon. When readers were counted and put upon shelves, charts furled, paint brushes washed, pencils sharpened, and blackboards cleaned, Morris pressed close to his lady and whispered: "Say, Teacher, I should tell you somethings." "Well, then, old man, tell it." "Teacher, it's like this; I ain't tell Ikey, out of Jewish, how you says you should wash out his mouth." "You didn't tell him? And why not, pray?" "Well," and Morris's tone, though apologetic, was self-righteous, "I guess you don't know about Ikey Borrachsohn." "I know he said two very bad things. Of course, I did not understand the Jewish part. What did he say? Did you know?" "Sure did I, on'y I wouldn't to tell it out. It ain't fer you. It ain't no fer-ladies word." Miss Bailey patted her small knight's hand. "Thank you, Morris," she said simply. "And so it was bad?" "Fierce." "Very well; I shall ask some other boy to tell him that I shall wash out his mouth." "Well," Morris began as before, "I guess you don't know 'bout Isaac Borrachsohn. You dassent to wash out his mouth, 'cause his grandpa's a Rabbi." "I know he is. Is that any reason for Isaac's swearing?" "His papa," Morris began in an awed whisper, "his papa's the King of Hester Street." "Well," responded Teacher calmly, "that makes no difference to me. No one may swear in this room. And now, Morris, you must run home. Your mother will be wondering where you are." Three minutes later Morris's dark head reappeared. His air was deeply confidential. "Teacher, Missis Bailey," he began, "I tells you 'scuse." "Well, dear, what is it?" asked Miss Bailey with divided interest, as she adjusted a very large hat with the guidance of a very small looking-glass. "What do you want?" Again Morris hesitated. "I guess," he faltered; "I guess you don't know 'bout Isaac Borrachsohn." "What has happened to him? Is he hurt?" "It's his papa. Ain't I told you he's the King of Hester Street und he's got dancing balls. My mamma und all the ladies on our block they puts them on stylish und goes on the ball. Und ain't you see how he's got a stylish mamma mit di'monds on the hair?" "Yes," admitted Miss Bailey, "I saw the diamonds." Not to have seen the paste buckle which menaced Mrs. Borrachsohn's left eye would have been to be blind indeed. "Und extra, you says you should wash out his mouth," Morris remonstrated. "I guess, maybe, you fools." "You'll see," said Miss Bailey blithely. "And now trot along, my dear. Good afternoon." Teacher hurried into her jacket and was buttoning her gloves when the Monitor of the Gold-Fish Bowl looked timidly in. "What now?" asked Teacher. "Well," said Morris, and breathed hard, "I guess you don't know 'bout Isaac Borrachsohn."