“For Chrish’ shake, Mamie!” he entreated her, wincingly. “Shtop to shpeak English, an’ shpeak shomet’ing differench. I’ll shee you—vere can I shee you?”
“You von’t come by Joe no more?” she asked, with sudden interest and even solicitude.
“You t’ink indeed I’m ’frait? If I vanted I can gu dere more ash I ushed to gu dere. But vere can I findsh you?”
“I guess you know vere I’m livin’, don’ch you? So kvick you forget? Vot a sho’t mind you got! Vill you come? Never min’, I know you are only bluffin’, an’ dot’s all.”
“I’ll come, ash sure ash I leev.”
“Vill you? All right. But if you don’ come an’ pay me at least ten dollars for a sta’t, you’ll see!”
In the meanwhile Gitl, poor thing, sat pale and horror-struck. Mamie’s perfumes somehow terrified her. She was racked with jealousy and all sorts of suspicions, which she vainly struggled to disguise. She could see that they were having a heated altercation, and that Jake was begging about something or other, and was generally the under dog in the parley. Ever and anon she strained her ears in the effort to fasten some of the incomprehensible sounds in her memory, that she might subsequently parrot them over to Mrs. Kavarsky, and ascertain their meaning. But, alas! the attempt proved futile; “never min’” and “all right” being all she could catch.
Mamie concluded her visit by presenting Joey with the imposing sum of five cents.
“What do you say? Say ‘danks, sir!’” Gitl prompted the boy.
“Shay ’t’ank you, ma’am!’” Jake overruled her. “‘Shir’ is said to a gentlemarn.”