I looked up at the tall, ungainly creature with round, stooping shoulders, and massive, shaggy head—physically a veritable giant, yet so timid, so diffident, afraid almost of his own shadow.
“I wanna learn how to sign myself my name,” he went on. “Only—you’ll make it for me a little cheaper—yes?”
“Fifty cents an hour,” I answered, drawn by the dumb, hunted look that cried to me out of his eyes.
Moisheh scratched his shaggy head and bit the nails of his huge, toil-worn hand. “Maybe—could you yet—perhaps—make it a little cheaper?” he fumbled.
“Aren’t you working?”
His furrowed face coloured with confusion. “Yes—but—but my family. I got to save myself together a penny to a penny for them.”
“Oh! So you’re already married?”
“No—not married. My family in Russia—mein old mother and Feivel, mein doctor brother, and Berel the baby, he was already learning for a book-keeper before the war.”
The coarse peasant features were transformed with tenderness as he started to tell me the story of his loved ones in Russia.
“Seven years ago I came to America. I thought only to make quick money to send the ship tickets for them all, but I fell into the hands of a cockroach boss.