I saw the likeness that first day you came in," he continued, nodding to Jack.

"It was one of the times when your sister, the magnificent Miss Grayson was here, Mr.Grayson." Isaac always called her so, a merry twinkle in his eye when he said it, but with a face and voice showing nothing but the deepest respect; at which Peter would laugh a gentle laugh in apology for his sister's peculiarities, a dislike of little tailors being one of them--this little tailor especially.
"And now, Mr.Breen, I hope you will have better luck," Isaac said, rising from his chair and holding out his hand.
"But you are not going, Isaac," protested Peter.
"Yes, this young gentleman, I see, is in a good deal of trouble and I cannot help him much, so I will go away," and with a wave of his pudgy hand he shut the door behind him and trotted downstairs to his shop.
Jack waited until the sound of his retreating footsteps assured the Jew's permanent departure, then he turned to Peter.
"I did not want to say too much before Mr.Cohen, but Uncle Arthur's refusal has upset me completely.

I could not have believed it of him.
You must help me somehow, Uncle Peter.

I don't mean with your own money; you have not got it to spare--but so I can get it somewhere.

I must have it, and I can't rest until I do get it." "Why, my dear boy! Is it so bad as that?
I thought you were joking." "I tried to joke about it while Mr.Cohen was here, but he saw through it, I know, from the way he spoke: but this really is a very serious matter; more serious than anything that ever happened to me." Peter walked to the sofa and sat down.