Children of the Ghetto

summer, when the great lake was bright and busy with boats, and the birds twittered in the leafy trees and the lobelias and calceolarias were woven into wonderful patterns by the gardeners. Then she would throw herself down on the thick grass and look up in mystic rapture at the brooding blue sky and forget to read the book she had brought with her, while the other children chased one another about in savage delight. Only once on a Saturday afternoon when her father was not with them, did she get Dutch Debby to break through her retired habits and accompany them, and then it was not summer but late autumn. There was an indefinable melancholy about the sere landscape. Russet refuse strewed the paths and the gaunt trees waved fleshless arms in the breeze. The November haze rose from the moist ground and dulled the blue of heaven with smoky clouds amid which the sun, a red sailless boat, floated at anchor among golden and crimson furrows and glimmering far-dotted fleeces. The small lake was slimy, reflecting the trees on its borders as a network of dirty branches. A solitary swan ruffled its plumes and elongated its throat, doubled in quivering outlines beneath the muddy surface. All at once the splash of oars was heard and the sluggish waters were stirred by the passage of a boat in which a heroic young man was rowing a no less heroic young woman.

Dutch Debby burst into tears and went home. After that she fell back entirely on Bobby and Esther and the London Journal and never even saved up nine shillings again.

CHAPTER X. A SILENT FAMILY.

Sugarman the Shadchan arrived one evening a few days before Purim at the tiny two-storied house in which Esther's teacher lived, with little Nehemiah tucked under his arm. Nehemiah wore shoes and short red socks. The rest of his legs was bare. Sugarman always carried him so as to demonstrate this fact. Sugarman himself was rigged out in a handsome manner, and the day not being holy, his blue bandanna peeped out from his left coat-tail, instead of being tied round his trouser band.

'Good morning, marm,' he said cheerfully.

'Good morning, Sugarman,' said Mrs. Hyams.

She was a little careworn old woman of sixty with white hair. Had she been more pious her hair would never have turned gray. But Miriam had long since put her veto on her mother's black wig. Mrs. Hyams was a meek, weak person and submitted in silence to the outrage on her deepest instincts. Old Hyams was stronger, but not strong enough. He, too, was a silent person.

'P'raps you're surprised,' said Sugarman, 'to get a call from me in my sealskin vest-coat. But de fact is, marm, I put it on to call on a lady. I only dropped in here on my vay.'

'Won't you take a chair?' said Mrs. Hyams. She spoke English painfully and slowly, having been schooled by Miriam.

'No, I'm not tired. But I vill put Nechemyah down on one, if you permit. Dere! Sit still or I potch you! P'raps you could lend me your corkscrew.'

'With pleasure,' said Mrs. Hyams.

'I dank you. You see my boy, Ebenezer, is Barmitzvah next Shabbos a veek, and I may not be passing again. You vill come?'

'I don't know,' said Mrs. Hyams hesitatingly. She was not certain whether Miriam considered Sugarman on their visiting list.

'Don't say dat, I expect to open dirteen bottles of lemonade! You must come, you and Mr. Hyams and the whole family.'

'Thank you. I will tell Miriam and Daniel and my husband.'

'Dat's right. Nechemyah, don't dance on de good lady's chair. Did you hear, Mrs. Hyams, of Mrs. Jonas's luck?'

'No.'

'I won her eleven pounds on the lotter_ee.'

'How nice,' said Mrs. Hyams, a little fluttered.

'I would let you have half a ticket for two pounds.'

'I haven't the money.'

'Vell, dirty-six shillings! Dere! I have to pay dat myself.'

'I would if I could, but I can't.'

'But you can have an eighth for nine shillings.'

Mrs. Hyams shook her head hopelessly.

'How is your son Daniel?' Sugarman asked.

'Pretty well, thank you. How is your wife?'

'Tank Gawd!'

'And your Bessie?'

'Tank Gawd! Is your Daniel in?'

'Yes.'

'Tank Gawd! I mean, can I see him?'

'It won't do any good.'

'No, not dat,' said Sugarman. 'I should like to ask him to de Confirmation myself.'

'Daniel!' called Mrs. Hyams.

He came from the back yard in rolled-up shirt-sleeves, soap-suds drying on his arms. He was a pleasant- faced, flaxen-haired young fellow, the junior of Miriam by eighteen months. There was will in the lower part of the face and tenderness in the eyes.

'Good morning, sir,' said Sugarman. 'My Ebenezer is Barmitzvah next Shabbos week; vill you do me the honor to drop in wid your moder and fader after Shool?'

Daniel crimsoned suddenly. He had 'No' on his lips, but suppressed it and ultimately articulated it in some polite periphrasis. His mother noticed the crimson. On a blonde face it tells.

'Don't say dat,' said Sugarman. 'I expect to open dirteen bottles of lemonade. I have lent your good moder's corkscrew.'

'I shall be pleased to send Ebenezer a little present, but I can't come, I really can't. You must excuse me.' Daniel turned away.

'Vell,' said Sugarman, anxious to assure him he bore no malice. 'If you send a present I reckon it de same as if you come.'

'That's all right,' said Daniel with strained heartiness.

Sugarman tucked Nehemiah under his arm but lingered on the threshold. He did not know how to broach the subject. But the inspiration came.

'Do you know I have summonsed Morris Kerlinski?'

'No,' said Daniel. 'What for?'

'He owes me dirty shillings. I found him a very fine maiden, but, now he is married, he says it was only worth a suvran. He offered it me but I vouldn't take it. A poor man he vas, too, and got ten pun from a marriage portion society.'

'Is it worth while bringing a scandal on the community for the sake of ten shillings? It will be in all the papers, and Shadchan will be spelt shatcan, shodkin, shatkin, chodcan, shotgun, and goodness knows what else.'

'Yes, but it isn't ten shillings,' said Sugarman. 'It's dirty shillings.'

'But you say he offered you a sovereign.'

'So he did. He arranged for two pun ten. I took the suvran-but not in full payment.'

'You ought to settle it before the Beth-din,' said Daniel vehemently, 'or get some Jew to arbitrate. You make the Jews a laughing-stock. It is true all marriages depend on money,' he added bitterly, 'only it is the fashion of police court reporters to pretend the custom is limited to the Jews.'

'Vell, I did go to Reb Shemuel,' said Sugarman 'I dought he'd be the very man to arbitrate.'

'Why?' asked Daniel.