the rear, which Isaac opened with a key
taken from his vest pocket, and which even in the dim light of a single
gas jet had more the appearance of the den of a scholar, or the workshop
of a scientist, than the private office of a fashioner of clothes.

Peter only stayed a moment--long enough to borrow the second volume of
one of Isaac's books, but the quaint interior and what it contained
made a great impression on Jack,--so much so that when the two had
said good-night and mounted the stairs to Peter's rooms, it was with
increased interest that the boy listened to the old fellow who stopped
on every landing to tell him some incident connected with the little
tailor and his life: How after his wife's death some years before, and
his only daughter's marriage--"and a great affair it was, my boy, I was
there and know,"--Cohen had moved down to his shop and fitted up the
back room for a little shelter of his own, where he had lived with his
books and his personal belongings and where he had met the queerest
looking people--with big heads and bushy beards--foreigners, some of
them--speaking all kinds of languages, as well as many highly educated
men in town.

Once inside his own cosey rooms Peter bustled about, poking the fire
into life, drawing the red curtains closer, moving a vase of roses so he
could catch their fragrance from where he sat, wheeling two big, easy,
all-embracing arm-chairs to the blaze, rolling a small table laden
with various burnables and pourables within reach of their elbows, and
otherwise disporting himself after the manner of the most cheery
and lovable of hosts. This done, he again took up the thread of his
discourse.

"Yes! He's a wonderful old fellow, this Isaac Cohen," he rattled on when
the two were seated. "You had only a glimpse of that den of his, but you
should see his books on costumes,--he's an authority, you know,--and
his miniatures,--Oh, a Cosway, which he keeps in his safe, that is a
wonder!--and his old manuscripts. Those are locked up too. And he's a
gentleman, too, Jack; not once in all the years I have known him have
I ever heard him mention the word money in an objectionable way, and he
has plenty of it even if he does press off my coat with his own hands.
Can you recall anybody you know, my boy--even in the houses where you
and I have been lately, who doesn't let the word slip out in a dozen
different ways before the evening is over? And best of all, he's
sane,--one of the f