"You've given away your coat again!" shrieked his wife, who, though her name meant "Rejoicing," was more often upbraiding.
"Yes, it was only an old one, Simcha," said the Rabbi deprecatingly. He took off his high hat and replaced it by a little black cap which he carried in his tail pocket.
"You'll ruin me, Shemuel!" moaned Simcha, wringing her hands. "You'd give away the shirt off your skin to a pack of good-for-nothing Schnorrers."
"Yes, if they had only their skin in the world. Why not?" said the old Rabbi, a pacific gleam in his large gazelle-like eyes. "Perhaps my coat may have the honor to cover Elijah the prophet."
"Elijah the prophet!" snorted Simcha. "Elijah has sense enough to stay in heaven and not go wandering about shivering in the fog and frost of this God-accursed country."
The old Rabbi answered, "Atschew!"
"For thy salvation do I hope, O Lord," murmured Simcha piously in
Hebrew, adding excitedly in English, "Ah, you'll kill yourself,
Shemuel." She rushed upstairs and returned with another coat and a new
terror.
"Here, you fool, you've been and done a fine thing this time! All your silver was in the coat you've given away!"
"Was it?" said Reb Shemuel, startled. Then the tranquil look returned to his brown eyes. "No, I took it all out before I gave away the coat."
"God be thanked!" said Simcha fervently in Yiddish. "Where is it? I want a few shillings for grocery."