“Well?” chuckled Shapiro.
He drew out a thick wallet from his pocket, and began counting out the fresh, green bills.
“I’ll do it this once,” said Berel, in a scarcely audible voice, as he pocketed the money.
“Gassed with gold!” exulted Shapiro to Maizie after Berel left. “He’s ours body and soul—bought and paid for!”
§ 3
Hanneh Breineh’s lodging-house was in a hubbub of excitement. A limousine had stopped before the dingy tenement, and Berel—a Berel from another world—stepped into the crowded kitchen.
How he was dressed! His suit was of the latest cut. The very quality of his necktie told of the last word in grooming. The ebony cane hanging on his arm raised him in the eyes of the admiring boarders to undreamed-of heights of wealth.
There was a new look in his eyes—the look of the man who has arrived and who knows that he has. Gone was the gloom of the insulted and the injured. Success had blotted out the ethereal, longing gaze of the hungry ghetto youth. Nevertheless, to a discerning eye, a lurking discontent, like a ghost at a feast, still cast its shadow on Berel’s face.
“He’s not happy. He’s only putting on,” thought Moisheh, casting sidelong glances at his brother.
“You got enough to eat, and it shows on you so quick,” purred Hanneh Breineh, awed into ingratiating gentleness by Berel’s new prosperity.