The old man wore his leather apron, and had his sleeves rolled to his elbows, thus showing a pair of brawny arms and toil-roughened hands. In one of them he carried a pair of old shoes to be mended. With unconscious dignity the old man advanced toward his customers, and when Dora asked, impetuously, what had kept him so long, he told her quietly that there was more bad news from Russia, from Odessa this time, where the unfortunate Jews were being butchered and driven like noxious beasts before the terrible Cossacks. “And I must stop to say somedings to ’courage Jake Rosenblum. He’s old fader and moder are in Odessa.” Then, turning to Jack Pierson, he said: “Good-morning, sir. Can I do somedings for you?” “Are you the shoemaker?” asked John. “Am I a shoemaker? Am _I_ a shoemaker? Vell, I shust say I vos a shoemaker. And I can make a pair of shoes vile you vait, if you vait long enough. Say, who are you?” “It’s none of your business. This lady here has knocked the heel of her shoe off, and she wants you to put it on. That’s enough for you to know; so get busy.” “All right, all right,” said the old man, taking his seat on the bench and preparing for his work. Dopey took a stool and sat down facing the old man, putting his own foot, encased in a very dilapidated shoe, almost in the old man’s face, at the same time leering at the old man very unpleasantly, who said: “Oie, oie! Vot a face. You looks like a pull-dog. Vat you vant. A patch for de plack eye--eh?” “Never mind me mug,” said Dopey, insolently, “nor me lamp. What’ll it cost me to get me skates fixed?--dey’s in a bad way.” “Vell, you pring me a pair of soles, unt I’ll put some uppers on dem.” “Muriel,” said John, “stay here as long as you like. I am going out to get a bite to eat, and, when you are through, come up to Lyons’ restaurant or go home. I don’t care which.” “All right, darling. I suppose I shall be able to survive your absence.” “Come on, Dopey. I suppose you want your dollar,” said Pierson, who had his idea in wishing to get Dopey outside. “I’m ready. I’se dead hungry for a bullet,” said Dopey, a gleam of anticipation in his glassy eyes. Morris Goldberg said to himself, “He must be one of dem suiciders. Vat for kind of talk is dot apout a bullet?” John and Dopey left the place, and as soon as they were outside, John said to Dopey, nodding his head toward Dora: “She is all you said, and more. Help me to land her, and you’ll never know what it means to go hungry for opium again.” They then walked along out of sight of the humble shoemaker’s shop. CHAPTER II. Morris Goldberg, by this time, was ready to wait upon Muriel, who seemed to be slowly overcoming the effects of the drink she had taken. And, in a few moments, the shoemaker had fixed the price at twenty cents for the work he was to do.