"I do not insinuate you would willingly be idle. I think I know what you want. You want to make up your mind now what you will do, and at your leisure what you will be; eh? To be, it seems to me," he said in summing up,--"that to be is not so necessary as to do, eh? or am I wrong?"
"No, sir," replied Joseph, still red, "I was feeling that just now. I will do the first thing that offers; I can dig."
The Creole shrugged and pouted.
"And be called a dos brile--a 'burnt-back.'"
"But"--began the immigrant, with overmuch warmth.
The other interrupted him, shaking his head slowly and smiling as he spoke.
"Mr. Frowenfeld, it is of no use to talk; you may hold in contempt the Creole scorn of toil--just as I do, myself, but in theory, my-de'-seh, not too much in practice. You cannot afford to be entirely different from the community in which you live; is that not so?"
"A friend of mine," said Frowenfeld, "has told me I must 'compromise.'"
"You must get acclimated," responded the Creole; "not in body only, that you have done; but in mind--in taste--in conversation--and in convictions too, yes, ha, ha! They all do it--all who come. They hold out a little while--a very little; then they open their stores on Sunday, they import cargoes of Africans, they bribe the officials, they smuggle goods, they have colored housekeepers. My-de'-seh, the water must expect to take the shape of the bucket; eh?"
"One need not be water!" said the immigrant.