“A weeping to me!” Gitl said, with horror. “May God save me from such things!”
In due course Mrs. Kavarsky arrived at the subject of head-gear, and for the third or fourth time she elicited from her pupil a promise to discard the kerchief and to sell the wig.
“No wonder he does hate you, seeing you in that horrid rag, which makes a grandma of you. Drop it, I tell you! Drop it so that no survivor nor any refugee is left of it. If you don’t obey me this time, dare not cross my threshold any more, do you hear?” she thundered. “One might as well talk to the wall as to her!” she proceeded, actually addressing herself to the opposite wall of her kitchen, and referring to her interlocutrice in the third person. “I am working and working for her, and here she appreciates it as much as the cat. Fie!” With which the irate lady averted her face in disgust.
“I shall take it off; now for sure—as sure as this is Wednesday,” said Gitl, beseechingly.
Mrs. Kavarsky turned back to her pacified.
“Remember now! If you deshepoitn [disappoint] me this time, well!—look at me! I should think I was no Gentile woman, either. I am as pious as you anyhull, and come from no mean family, either. You know I hate to boast; but my father—peace be upon him!—was fit to be a rabbi. Vell, and yet I am not afraid to go with my own hair. May no greater sins be committed! Then it would be never min’ enough. Plenty of time for putting on the patch [meaning the wig] when I get old; but as long as I am young, I am young an’ dot’s ull! It can not be helped; when one lives in an edzecate country, one must live like edzecate peoples. As they play, so one dances, as the saying is. But I think it is time for you to be going. Go, my little kitten,” Mrs. Kavarsky said, suddenly lapsing into accents of the most tender affection. “He may be up by this time and wanting tea. Go, my little lamb, go and try to make yourself agreeable to him and the Uppermost will help. In America one must take care not to displease a husband. Here one is to-day in New York and to-morrow in Chicago; do you understand? As if there were any shame or decency here! A father is no father, a wife, no wife—not’ing! Go now, my baby! Go and throw away your rag and be a nice woman, and everything will be ull right.” And so hurrying Gitl to go, she detained her with ever a fresh torrent of loquacity for another ten minutes, till the young woman, standing on pins and needles and scarcely lending an ear, plucked up courage to plead her household duties and take a hasty departure.
She found Jake fast asleep. It was after eleven when he slowly awoke. He got up with a heavy burden on his soul—a vague sense of having met with some horrible rebuff. In his semiconsciousness he was unaware, however, of his wife’s and son’s existence and of the change which their advent had produced in his life, feeling himself the same free bird that he had been a fortnight ago. He stared about the room, as if wondering where he was. Noticing Gitl, who at that moment came out of the bedroom, he instantly realized the situation, recalling Mamie, hat, perfumes, and all, and his heart sank within him. The atmosphere of the room became stifling to him. After sitting on the lounge for some time with a drooping head, he was tempted to fling himself on the pillow again, but instead of doing so he slipped on his hat and coat and went out.
Gitl was used to his goings and comings without explanation. Yet this time his slam of the door sent a sharp pang through her heart. She had no doubt but that he was bending his steps to another interview with the Polish witch, as she mentally branded Miss Fein.
Nor was she mistaken, for Jake did start, mechanically, in the direction of Chrystie Street, where Mamie lodged. He felt sure that she was away to some ball, but the very house in which she roomed seemed to draw him with magnetic force. Moreover, he had a lurking hope that he might, after all, find her about the building. Ah, if by a stroke of good luck he came upon her on the street! All he wished was to have a talk, and that for the sole purpose of amending her unfavourable impression of him. Then he would never so much as think of Mamie, for, indeed, she was hateful to him, he persuaded himself.
Arrived at his destination, and failing to find Mamie on the sidewalk, he was tempted to wait till she came from the ball, when he was seized with a sudden sense of the impropriety of his expedition, and he forthwith returned home, deciding in his mind, as he walked, to move with his wife and child to Chicago.