"I'm a ladies' tailor, but I have
worked on men's clothing, too," he said
"A ladies' tailor?" the well-dressed stranger echoed, with
ill-concealed delight. "Very well; come along. I have work for
you."
That he should have been able to read Gitelson's trade in his face
and figure scarcely surprised me. In my native place it seemed to
be a matter of course that one could tell a tailor by his general
appearance and walk.
Besides, had I not divined the occupation of my fellow-passenger
the moment I saw him on deck? As I learned subsequently, the
man who accosted us on State Street was a cloak contractor, and
his presence in the neighborhood of Castle Garden was anything
but a matter of chance. He came there quite often, in fact, his
purpose being to angle for cheap labor among the newly arrived
immigrants
We paused near Bowling Green. The contractor and my
fellow-passenger were absorbed in a conversation full of sartorial
technicalities which were Greek to me, but which brought a gleam
of joy into Gitelson's eye.
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