“About what?” Here Miss Felicia's eyes were suddenly diverted, and became fastened on the short figure of Mr. Isaac Cohen, who had risen to his feet and stood talking in the most confidential way with Morris--Peter listening intently. Such phrases as “Better make the columns of marble,” from Morris, and, “Well, I will talk it over with the Rabbi,” from the tailor, reached his ears. Further relief came when Miss Felicia rose from her chair with her hand extended to Morris, who was already taking leave of Peter and all danger was passed when host and hostess conducted the tailor and the architect to the door; Morris bending over Miss Felicia's hand and kissing it with the air of a courtier suddenly aroused by the appearance of royalty (he had been completely immersed in Cohen's talk), and the tailor bowing to her on his way out without even so much as touching the tips of her fingers. “There, my dear Breen,” said Peter, when he had adjusted his cravat before the glass and brushed a few stray hairs over his temples, “that's a man it would do you an immense amount of good to know; the kind of a man you call worthwhile. Not only does he speak three languages, Hebrew being one of them, but he can talk on any subject from Greek temples to the raising of violets. Morris thinks the world of him--So do I.” “Yes, I heard him say something about columns.” “Oh!--then you overheard! Yes, they are for the new synagogue that Morris is building. Cohen is chairman of the committee.” “And he is the banker, too, I suppose?” rejoined Jack, in a tone which showed his lack of interest in both man and subject. It was Peter's ear he wanted, and at once. The old man's eyes twinkled: “Banker!--not a bit of it. He's a tailor, my dear boy--a most delightful gentleman tailor, who works in the basement below us and who only yesterday pressed the coat I have on.” Here Peter surveyed himself with a comprehensive glance. “All the respectable people in New York are not money mad.” Then, seeing Jack's look of astonishment over the announcement, he laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and said with a twinkle of his eye and a little laugh: “Only one tailor--not nine--my boy, was required to make Mr. Cohen a man. And now about yourself. Why are you not at work? Old fellows like me once in a while have a holiday--but young fellows! Come!--What is it brings you here during business hours? Anything I can help you in?--anything at home?” and Peter's eyes bored holes in the boy's brain. Jack glanced at Miss Felicia, who was arranging the roses Morris had brought her, and then said in a half whisper: “I have had a row with my uncle, sir. Maybe I had better come some other day, when--”