“Don’t be a child!”
“What is there to discuss, what?” He rose from his place. “I said once and for all that I refuse to be a cut-purse.”
“You talk like a child,” began Uncle Jonah. “I’m no cut-purse myself, and I get along first rate with my employés! But everything must be done with foresight, with a reckoning! You, my dear child,—you,” he began, falling into the sing-song intonation of the Gemara, “you’re starting out as a manufacturer,—you’re a new competitor in the market. Then you must try to sell your goods cheaper. But how are you going to do this when your labour is going to cost you more than it costs anybody else?” he ended, ironically, his arms akimbo, looking from face to face with an air of triumph.
“I know the reckoning!” retorted Drabkin, obstinately.
“No, you don’t!” shouted the tailor, waving his right hand in the air and then bringing it back to his hips. “You don’t know! If you did, you wouldn’t do as you wish to do!... Let me repeat it to you, my youngster, you ...” and again he lapsed into the Talmudic sing-song—“Wages will cost you practically twice as much as any other, and your workingmen will produce half as much per day as in any other shop. Well, where’s your brains? Your goods will cost four times as dear!... Who’s going to buy it of you? Is it going to be covered with spangles?”
“I tell you, I don’t care to hear any reckonings!” cried Drabkin.
“Then you’re a fool, a jackass, a simpleton!” replied Jonah, heatedly.
“It’s the first time in my life I see such a person!” asserted Jehiel, shrugging his shoulders.
“Shut up. It’s no worry of yours,” scowled Drabkin. “I’ll do exactly as I please.”
“What do you mean,—exactly as you please?” shrilled Grunim. “You’re not the boss yet. Meanwhile Chyenke has the say here!”