These young fellows have very peculiar ideas about a good many things,--and this boy is like all the rest--some of which ought to be knocked out of his head,--your race, for one thing.

He thinks that because you are a Jew that you--" Jack uttered a smothered, "Oh, Uncle Peter!" but the old fellow who now had the tailor in one of his big chairs and was filling a thin wineglass with a brown liquid (ten years in the wood)--Holker sent it--kept straight on.

"Jack's all right inside, or I wouldn't love him, but there are a good many things he has got to learn, and you happen to be one of them." Cohen lay back in his chair and laughed heartily.
"Do not mind him, Mr.Breen,--do not mind a word he says.

He mortifies me that same way.

And now--" here he turned his head to Peter--"what does he think of my race ?" "Oh! He thinks you are a lot of money-getters and pawnbrokers, gouging the poor and squeezing the rich." Jack broke out into a cold perspiration: "Really, Uncle Peter! Now, Mr.Cohen, won't you please believe that I never said one word of it," exclaimed Jack in pleading tones, his face expressing his embarrassment.
"I never said you did, Jack," rejoined Peter with mock solemnity in his voice.