"Come inside." Jack was about to tell him that he must catch a train, when something in the tailor's manner and the earnestness with which he spoke, made the young fellow alter his mind and follow him.
The little man led the way through the now darkened and empty shop, lighted by one gas jet--past the long cutting counter flanked by shelves bearing rolls of cloth and paper patterns, around the octagon stove where the irons were still warm, and through the small door which led into his private room.

There he turned up a reading lamp, its light softened by a green shade, and motioning Jack to a seat, said abruptly, but politely--more as a request than a demand: "I have a question to ask you, and you will please tell me the truth.
How much money do you want, and what do you want it for ?" Jack bit his lip.

He wanted money, and he wanted it badly, but the tailor had no right to pry into his private affairs--certainly not in this way.
"Well, that was something I was talking to Uncle Peter about," he rejoined stiffly.

"I suppose you must have overheard." "Yes, I did.

Go on--how much money do you want, and what do you want it for ?" "But, Mr.Cohen, I don't think I ought to bother you with my troubles.
They wouldn't interest you." "Now, my dear young man, you will please not misunderstand me.