Shmul nodded his head plaintively and waved his hands.
"It is the carrier, Johel, come to see me. We have known each other a long time."
At the same time a tall, heavy man came into the light, and approached the two. Johel was powerfully built, but he looked broken down and troubled. His jacket, without sleeves, was dirty and ragged, his bare feet cut and bruised, the fiery red hair matted, and the mouth swollen. There was something defiant in his looks, and yet he seemed as if he could not look anybody straight in the face. He went near the table to take a pinch of onion to season the bread he was holding in his hand.
"Meir," he said, "you are an old acquaintance. I drove your uncle Raphael when he went to fetch you, a poor little orphan, and I drove you and him to Szybow."
"I have seen you since," said Meir. "You were a decent carrier then, and had four horses."
The inmate of the poorhouse smiled.
"It is true," he said; "bad luck pursued me. I wanted to make a great geschaft (business), but it did not turn out as I thought it would, and then another misfortune befell me."
"The second misfortune, Johel, was a crime. Why did you take the horses out of the gentleman's stables?"
The questioned man laughed cynically.
"Why did I take them out? I wanted to sell them, and make a lot of money."