“Is Mr. Koppel in?”
She turned with a start and gazed at me in astonishment. Her big, brown eyes were opened wide at the apparition of a stranger, yet she did not seem at all alarmed. After a moment’s hesitation—the door was still open—she approached me and held out the doll.
“Urim!” she said. I took it, and with a happy smile she ran to a corner of the room, where, from under a table, she dragged another doll.
“T’ummim!” she said, holding it out to me.
Then Koppel entered the room. He knew me, although I had never seen him before, and readily guessed the object of my errand.
“You are from the newspaper,” he said. “You want to know why I did not strike.”
When the lamplight fell upon his countenance I saw that he was a miserable-looking creature, servile in his manner, and repulsive to the eye. He did not appear to be very strong, and the climb of the stairs seemed to have exhausted him. He sat down, and the girl climbed upon his knee. She threw her arm around his neck, and, looking up at me with a pretty smile, said:
“Urim—T’ummim—mine!”
Koppel stroked her head, and a look of deep love came into his eyes, and then I began to understand.
“She has no mother,” he said. “I must pay a woman to give her food. I—I can’t strike—can I?”