“Rockefeller—Vanderbilt!”
Exclamations of wonder and awe leaped from lip to lip as they gazed at this Midas who was once a schnorrer in their midst.
Basking in their adulation like a bright lizard in the sun, Berel, with feigned indifference, lighted a thick cigar. He began to hum airily one of his latest successes.
“Ten thousand dollars for my last song!” he announced casually, as he puffed big rings of smoke to the ceiling.
“Riches rains on you!” Hanneh Breineh threw up her hands in an abandon of amazement. “Sing to me only that millionaires’ song!”
Lifting her ragged skirts, she began to step in time to the tune that Berel hummed.
Out of all the acclaimers Moisheh remained the only unresponsive figure in the room.
“Why your long face?” Hanneh Breineh shrieked. “What thunder fell on you?”
Moisheh shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t know what is with me the matter. I don’t get no feelings from the words. It’s only boom—boom—nothing!”