It was not until after supper time that Gitl could see Mrs. Kavarsky; for the neighbour’s husband was in the installment business, and she generally spent all day in helping him with his collections as well as canvassing for new customers. When Gitl came in to unburden herself of Fanny’s revelations, she found her confidante out of sorts. Something had gone wrong in Mrs. Kavarsky’s affairs, and, while she was perfectly aware that she had only herself to blame, she had laid it all to her husband and had nagged him out of the house before he had quite finished his supper.
She listened to her neighbour’s story with a bored and impatient air, and when Gitl had concluded and paused for her opinion, she remarked languidly: “It serves you right! It is all becuss you will not throw away that ugly kerchief of yours. What is the use of your asking my advice?”
“Oi! I think even that wouldn’t help it now,” Gitl rejoined, forlornly. “The Uppermost knows what drug she has charmed him with. A cholera into her, Lord of the world!” she added, fiercely.
Mrs. Kavarsky lost her temper.
“Say, will you stop talking nonsense?” she shouted savagely. “No wonder your husband does not care for you, seeing these stupid greenhornlike notions of yours.”
“How then could she have bewitched him, the witch that she is? Tell me, little heart, little crown, do tell me! Take pity and be a mother to me. I am so lonely and——” Heartrending sobs choked her voice.
“What shall I tell you? that you are a blockhead? Oi! Oi! Oi!” she mocked her. “Will the crying help you? Ull right, cry away!”
“But what shall I do?” Gitl pleaded, wiping her tears. “It may drive me mad. I won’t wear the kerchief any more. I swear this is the last day,” she added, propitiatingly.
“Dot’s right! When you talk like a man I like you. And now sit still and listen to what an older person and a business woman has to tell you. In the first place, who knows what that girl—Jennie, Fannie, Shmennie, Yomtzedemennie—whatever you may call her—is after?” The last two names Mrs. Kavarsky invented by poetical license to complete the rhyme and for the greater emphasis of her contempt. “In the second place, asposel [supposing] he did talk to that Polish piece of disturbance. Vell, what of it? It is all over with the world, isn’t it? The mourner’s prayer is to be said after it, I declare! A married man stood talking to a girl! Just think of it! May no greater evil befall any Yiddish daughter. This is not Europe where one dares not say a word to a strange woman! Nu, sir!”
“What, then, is the matter with him? At home he would hardly ever leave my side, and never ceased looking into my eyes. Woe is me, what America has brought me to!” And again her grief broke out into a flood of tears.