And then Mannie, true to habit, would scamper and scamper.
Up out of the traplike stair-opening came the head of Mrs. Kantor, disheveled and a smudge of soot across her face, but beneath her arm, triumphant, a violin of one string and a broken back.
"See, Leon—what mamma got! A violin! A fiddle! Look! The bow, too, I found. It ain't much, baby, but it's a fiddle."
"Aw, ma—that's my old violin. Gimme. I want it. Where'd you find—"
"Hush up, Izzie! This ain't yours no more. See, Leon, what mamma brought you. A violin!"
"Now, you little chammer, you got a feedle, and if you ever let me hear you holler again for a feedle, by golly! if I don't—"
From his corner, Leon Kantor reached out, taking the instrument and fitting it beneath his chin, the bow immediately feeling, surely and lightly, for string.
"Look, Abrahm, he knows how to hold it! What did I tell you? A child that never in his life seen a fiddle, except a beggar's on the street!"
Little Esther suddenly cantered down-floor, clapping her chubby hands.
"Lookie—lookie—Leon!"