“That's no argument,” replied his son-in-law. “That don't signify any thing. If you want to argue, you just answer me this. If you think America's such a poor sort of a place, what did you come here for, any way?”
“Oh, I came because I didn't have no money; and I got an idea the streets here was paved with gold.”
“Well, now that you've got money, and now that you know the streets here ain't paved with gold, why don't you go back?”
“Oh, dot—dot is another question.”
“Well, I'll tell you why. Because you like it here, Because, down deep, you think it's the finest country in the world. You talk against it, for the love of talking. If you went to Europe, you'd be as homesick as anybody.”
“Ain't my uncle a splendid conversationalist?'' Tillie whispered to Elias.
“Washington,” said his father-in-law, solemnly, “you got a head on you like Daniel Webster's.”
“Oh, papa!” cried Mrs. Koch. “You make me die with laifing.”
Mrs. Blum was rocking from side to side in her chair, and murmuring, “Gott! Gott! Gott!”
For a while, again, there was silence; which, again, by and by, Mr. Blum was the first to break.