"What should they be doing? Plaguing my life out with their open mouths!"
"Why not teach them a trade?"
She turns up her nose, gives me a black look, and refuses to give any further answers.
I have an idea: I buy a packet of cigarettes. She looks less disagreeable, and I ask:
"How much does your husband earn?"
"He? He earn anything? What use do you suppose he is, when I can't even send him to fetch a dish from a neighbor's? He's been four hours already. It won't be thanks to him if we get any supper to-night!"
She goes off into another fury. I have to go outside and catch the husband in the street. I knew him—he was carrying a dish!
——
AT THE SHOCHET'S
I am greeted by a mixture of different voices. A hero of a cock gives a proud crow, as though there were no such thing as a slaughter-knife in the world. Contrariwise, a calf lows sadly—it would seem to be hungry, while between the boards under the holes in the tall roof chirp quantities of small birds. They have wings and laugh at the Shochet. It is summer, the air is full of insects, men, even the poorest and stingiest, leave crumbs about. Zip! zip! and zip! and zip! zip! zip! The bed in the nest is made, the "he" is decked out in bright colors, the "she" is modest and silent, and the children have had enough to eat! They are warm, and are not "down" in someone's note-book for military service or in connection with the matter of a license.