'Holy angel!' he cried, rushing at the hem of Barstein's coat, and kissing it reverently. He was a gaunt, melancholy figure, elongated to over six feet, and still further exaggerated by a rusty top-hat of the tallest possible chimneypot, and a threadbare frockcoat of the longest possible tails. At his advent his wife, vastly relieved, shepherded her flock into the kitchen and closed the door, leaving Barstein alone with the long man, who seemed, as he stood gazing at his visitor, positively soaring heavenwards with rapture.
But Barstein inquired brutally: 'Where do you do your dentistry?'
'Never mind me,' replied Nehemiah ecstatically. 'Let me look on you!' And a more passionate worship came into his tranced gaze.
But Barstein, feeling duped, replied sternly: 'Where do you do your dentistry?'
The question seemed to take some moments penetrating through Nehemiah's rapt brain, but at last he replied pathetically: 'And where shall I find achers? In Russia I had my living of it. Here I have no friends.'
The homeliness of his vocabulary amused Barstein. Evidently the dictionary was his fount of inspiration. Without it Niagara was reduced to a trickle. He seemed indeed quite shy of speech, preferring to gaze with large liquid eyes.
'But you have managed to live here for ten years,' Barstein pointed out.
'You see how merciful God is!' Nehemiah rejoined eagerly. 'Never once has He deserted me and my children.'
'But what have you done?' inquired Barstein.
The first shade of reproach came into Nehemiah's eyes.