Children of the Ghetto

He was just nailing the thicker of those rockers on to the body of a cradle. His soul was full of bitter-sweet memories. Widow Finkelstein suddenly appeared in the moonlight. For a moment Shosshi's heart beat wildly. He thought the buxom figure was Becky's.

'I have come for my sixpence.'

Ah! The words awoke him from his dream. It was only the Widow Finkelstein.

And yet-! Verily, the widow, too, was plump and agreeable; if only her errand had been pleasant, Shosshi felt she might have brightened his back yard. He had been moved to his depths latterly and a new tenderness and a new boldness towards women shone in his eyes.

He rose and put his head on one side and smiled amiably and said, 'Be not so foolish. I did not take a copper. I am a poor young man. You have plenty of money in your stocking.'

'How know you that?' said the widow, stretching forward her right foot meditatively and gazing at the strip of stocking revealed.

'Never mind!' said Shosshi, shaking his head sapiently.

'Well, it's true,' she admitted. 'I have two hundred and seventeen golden sovereigns besides my shop. But for all that why should you keep my sixpence?' She asked it with the same good-humored smile.

The logic of that smile was unanswerable. Shosshi's mouth opened, but no sound issued from it. He did not even say the Evening Prayer. The moon sailed slowly across the heavens. The water flowed into the cistern with a soft soothing sound.

Suddenly it occurred to Shosshi that the widow's waist was not very unlike that which he had engirdled imaginatively. He thought he would just try if the sensation was anything like what he had fancied. His arm strayed timidly round her black-beaded mantle. The sense of his audacity was delicious. He was wondering whether he ought to say She-hechyoni-the prayer over a new pleasure. But the Widow Finkelstein stopped his mouth with a kiss. After that Shosshi forgot his pious instincts.

Except old Mrs. Ansell, Sugarman was the only person scandalized. Shosshi's irrepressible spirit of romance had robbed him of his commission. But Meckisch danced with Shosshi Shmendrik at the wedding, while the Calloh footed it with the Russian giantess. The men danced in one-half of the room, the women in the other.

CHAPTER XVII. THE HYAMS'S HONEYMOON.

'Beenah, hast thou heard aught about our Daniel?' There was a note of anxiety in old Hyams's voice.

'Naught, Mendel.'

'Thou hast not heard talk of him and Sugarman's daughter?'

'No, is there aught between them?' The listless old woman spoke a little eagerly.

'Only that a man told me that his son saw our Daniel pay court to the maiden.'

'Where?'

'At the Purim Ball.'

'The man is a tool; a youth must dance with some maiden or other.'

Miriam came in, fagged out from teaching. Old Hyams dropped from Yiddish into English.

'You are right, he must.'

Beenah replied in her slow painful English.

'Would he not have told us?'

Mendel repeated:-'Would he not have told us?'

Each avoided the others eye. Beenah dragged herself about the room, laying Miriam's tea.

'Mother, I wish you wouldn't scrape your feet along the floor so. It gets on my nerves and I am so worn out. Would he not have told you what? And who's he?'

Beenah looked at her husband.

'I heard Daniel was engaged,' said old Hyams jerkily.

Miriam started and flushed.

'To whom?' she cried, in excitement.

'Bessie Sugarman.'

'Sugarman's daughter?' Miriam's voice was pitched high.

'Yes.'

Miriam's voice rose to a higher pitch.

'Sugarman the Shadchan's daughter?'

'Yes.'

Miriam burst into a fit of incredulous laughter.

'As if Daniel would marry into a miserable family like that!'

'It is as good as ours,' said Mendel, with white lips.

His daughter looked at him astonished. 'I thought your children had taught you more self-respect than that,' she said quietly. 'Mr. Sugarman is a nice person to be related to!'

'At home, Mrs. Sugarman's family was highly respected,' quavered old Hyams.

'We are not at home now,' said Miriam witheringly. 'We're in England. A bad-tempered old hag!'

'That is what she thinks me,' thought Mrs. Hyams. But she said nothing.

'Did you not see Daniel with her at the ball?' said Mr. Hyams, still visibly disquieted.

'I'm sure I didn't notice,' Miriam replied petulantly. 'I think you must have forgot the sugar, mother, or else the tea is viler than usual. Why don't you let Jane cut the bread and butter instead of lazing in the kitchen?'

'Jane has been washing all day in the scullery,' said Mrs. Hyams apologetically.

'H'm!' snapped Miriam, her pretty face looking peevish and careworn. 'Jane ought to have to manage sixty- three girls whose ignorant parents let them run wild at home, and haven't the least idea of discipline. As for this chit of a Sugarman, don't you know that Jews always engage every fellow and girl that look at each other across the street, and make fun of them and discuss their united prospects before they are even introduced to each other.'

She finished her tea, changed her dress and went off to the theatre with a girl-friend. The really harassing nature of her work called for some such recreation. Daniel came in a little after she had gone out, and ate his supper, which was his dinner saved for him and warmed up in the oven. Mendel sat studying from an unwieldy folio which he held on his lap by the fireside and bent over. When Daniel had done supper and was standing yawning and stretching himself, Mendel said suddenly as if trying to bluff him:

'Why don't you ask your father to wish you Mazzoltov?'

'Mazzoltov? What for?' asked Daniel puzzled.

'On your engagement.'

'My engagement!' repeated Daniel, his heart thumping against his ribs.

'Yes-to Bessie Sugarman.'

Mendel's eye, fixed scrutinizingly on his boy's face, saw it pass from white to red and from red to white. Daniel caught hold of the mantel as if to steady himself.

'But it is a lie!' he cried hotly. 'Who told you that?'

'No one; a man hinted as much.'

'But I haven't even been in her company.'

'Yes-at the Purim Ball.'

Daniel bit his lip.

'Damned gossips!' he cried. 'I'll never speak to the girl again.'

There was a tense silence for a few seconds, then old Hyams said:

'Why not? You love her.'

Daniel stared at him, his heart palpitating painfully. The blood in his ears throbbed mad sweet music.

'You love her,' Mendel repeated quietly. 'Why do you not ask her to marry you? Do you fear she would refuse?'

Daniel burst into semi-hysterical laughter. Then seeing his father's half-reproachful, half-puzzled look he said