“But why should you have thrown up your job on this particular day?” asked Chashke, not heeding her mother’s sarcasm.
“Why? Because!” he shouted. “Why! I can’t look upon their actions in cold blood. It’s inhuman! It’s murderous! Ephraim is supposed to work till nine o’clock at night and he works till half past ten; when he came to work this morning at half past seven, they fell upon him like a mad dog and....”
“Isn’t it his granny’s worry?” interjected the old woman.
“I can’t bear such things. I can’t look on in silence. So I gave it to them!...”
“Psh! Their shirts turned to linen! How they must have trembled before you!”
But Chashke cast an angry look at her mother.
“What then?” she asked, contemptuously: “Are the workingmen to suffer such things without a word of protest?”
“Let Ephraim holler for himself. Why need he do the shouting?” replied the old woman.
“And suppose Ephraim is a meek little lamb? And suppose Ephraim allows everybody to walk all over him?” cried Drabkin, springing to his feet, his countenance burning with indignation.
Chashke eyed her mother with ironic triumph.