It was subjected to a severe scrutiny, the hook and blades were opened, and the article of barter with the cork-screw was drawn forth for comparison.
“Why do you like a hook better than a cork-screw?” said Deronda.
“’Caush I can get hold of things with a hook. A cork-screw won’t go into anything but corks. But it’s better for you, you can draw corks.”
“You agree to change, then?” said Deronda, observing that the grandmother was listening with delight.
“What else have you got in your pockets?” said Jacob, with deliberative seriousness.
“Hush, hush, Jacob, love,” said the grandmother. And Deronda, mindful of discipline, answered,
“I think I must not tell you that. Our business was with the knives.”
Jacob looked up into his face scanningly for a moment or two, and apparently arriving at his conclusions, said gravely,
“I’ll shwop,” handing the cork-screw knife to Deronda, who pocketed it with corresponding gravity.
Immediately the small son of Shem ran off into the next room, whence his voice was heard in rapid chat; and then ran back again—when, seeing his father enter, he seized a little velveteen hat which lay on a chair and put it on to approach him. Cohen kept on his own hat, and took no notice of the visitor, but stood still while the two children went up to him and clasped his knees: then he laid his hands on each in turn and uttered his Hebrew benediction; whereupon the wife, who had lately taken baby from the cradle, brought it up to her husband and held it under his outstretched hands, to be blessed in its sleep. For the moment, Deronda thought that this pawnbroker, proud of his vocation, was not utterly prosaic.