“Look at the Cossack of straw!” he said quietly, with a forced smile. “Such a piece of cholera!” he added, as if speaking to himself, as he resumed his seat. “I wonder who tells her all these fibs?”
Gitl broke into a fresh flood of tears.
“Vell, what do you want now?” Mrs. Kavarsky said, addressing herself to her. “He says it is a lie. I told you you take all sorts of silly notions into your head.”
“Ach, would it were a lie!” Gitl answered between her sobs.
At this juncture the boy stepped up to his mother’s side, and nestled against her skirt. She clasped his head with both her hands, as though gratefully accepting an offer of succour against an assailant. And then, for the vague purpose of wounding Jake’s feelings, she took the child in her arms, and huddling him close to her bosom, she half turned from her husband, as much as to say, “We two are making common cause against you.” Jake was cut to the quick. He kept his glance fixed on the reddened, tear-stained profile of her nose, and, choking with hate, he was going to say, “For my part, hang yourself together with him!” But he had self-mastery enough to repress the exclamation, confining himself to a disdainful smile.
“Children, children! Woe, how you do sin!” Mrs. Kavarsky sermonized. “Come now, obey an older person. Whoever takes notice of such trifles? You have had a quarrel? ull right! And now make peace. Have an embrace and a good kiss and dot’s ull! Hurry yup, Mr. Podkovnik! Don’t be ashamed!” she beckoned to him, her countenance wreathed in voluptuous smiles in anticipation of the love scene about to enact itself before her eyes. Mr. Podkovnik failing to hurry up, however, she went on disappointedly: “Why, Mr. Podkovnik! Look at the boy the Uppermost has given you. Would he might send me one like him. Really, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
“Vot you kickin’ aboyt, anyhoy?” Jake suddenly fired out, in English. “Min’ jou on businesh an’ dot’sh ull,” he added indignantly, averting his head.
Mrs. Kavarsky grew as red as a boiled lobster.
“Vo—vo—vot you keeck aboyt?” she panted, drawing herself up and putting her arms akimbo. “He must think I, too, can be scared by his English. I declare my shirt has turned linen for fright! I was in America while you were hauling away at the bellows in Povodye; do you know it?”
“Are you going out of my house or not?” roared Jake, jumping to his feet.