Yossl took fire.
“On my part let him go to all the black ghosts!” he burst out. “‘The educated people of these days,’ indeed! First he will play with fire and then he wants me to fight his battles! Would he have his old father go to prison on account of him? He is not in Paris, then? I am as clever as you, young woman. I, too, understand a thing or two, though I am not of ‘the educated people of these days!’ It is not enough that he has got in trouble himself; he wants to drag me in, too. Is that the kind of ‘education’ he has got? Is that what he has broken with his wife and father for? The ghost take him!”
“Don’t be excited, Reb Yossl,” Clara pleaded, earnestly. “It’s a treasure of a son you have and you know it. As to the education he has acquired, it is the kind that teaches one to struggle against injustice and oppression, things which I know you hate as deeply as your son does.” A tremour came into her voice, and a slight blush into her cheeks, as she added: “Your son is one of those remarkable men who are willing to die for the suffering people.”
“But who are you?” he asked with a frown, “How did you get here? If you, too, are one of those people you had better leave this town at once. I don’t want to get in trouble on account of you.”
They reached the inn, and he paused in front of it, leaning against a waggon.
“Never mind who I am,” she returned.
“But where is he? Has he been arrested? Good God, what has he been doing to himself? What does he want of my old bones? Is he sorry his father is still alive?”
“You don’t want your son to perish, do you?” she said rather pugnaciously. “If you don’t, you had better get the gendarmes off his track.”
She went on arguing with renewed ardour. As he listened, a questioning look came into his face. Instead of following her plea he scrutinised her suspiciously.
“But why should you pray for him so fervently,” he asked significantly. “Why should you run risks for his sake? What do you get out of it?”