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"Are you Georsh's saunt?" he inquired of a tall man with white side-whiskers and garbed in ministerial black. His answer was a look of horror, but it had no effect on Perkins, who repeated his question at intervals without result. His lack of success finally drove him to tears. "Poor Georsh!" he sobbed. "Dear old Georsh! Must have an naunt! Break hish heart if he don't have an naunt!
Can't fine his naunt! Get him one myself!" A gang of immigrants were passing at the time. Perkins grabbed one of them by the arm. "Be nish fellow," he said persuasively, "be Georsh's aunt." The immigrant was obdurate, but Perkins was persistent. He drew a roll of bills from his pocket and peeled off a five. This he pressed upon his new-found friend.
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