“Yes. I’m a robin,” said Mendel, and he whistled blithely, “Tit-a-weet! tit-a-weet! tit-a-weet! I shall go on the halls as a whistler. Tit-a-weet! and I shall make three hundred pounds a week. Tit-a-weet! tit-a-weet!”
Golda laughed at him till the tears ran, so happy was she to have him come back to her.
“It is not nonsense about the Christian girl,” he said. “She is going to turn me into a Public School gentleman, and I shall bring her to see you, so that you can know for yourself that it is not nonsense.”
“It is not the girl who is nonsensical, but you.”
“Tit-a-weet!”
“I will bake her a Jewish bread and you shall take it to her. Yes. Bring her to me and I will thank her for bearing with you.”
“Tit-a-weet! Tit-a-weet!”
“Cock robin!”
His luggage consisted of a brown-paper parcel, a paint-box and two canvases.