'We have not discussed it yet,' said Pinchas airily.
Radsikoff smiled again. 'Oh, he'll pull through—so long as Mrs. Goldwater doesn't play "Ophelia."'
'She play "Ophelia"! She would not dream of such a thing. She is a saucy soubrette; she belongs to vaudeville.'
'All right. I have warned you.'
'You don't think there is really a danger!' Pinchas was pale and shaking.
'The Yiddish stage is so moral. Husbands and wives, unfortunately, live and play together,' said the old dramatist drily.
'I'll drown her truly before I let her play my "Ophelia,"' said the poet venomously.
Radsikoff shrugged his shoulders and dropped into American. 'Well, it's up to you.'
'The minx!' Pinchas shook his fist at the air. 'But I'll manage her. If the worst comes to the worst, I'll make love to her.'
The poet's sublime confidence in his charms was too much even for his admirers. The mental juxtaposition of the seedy poet and the piquant actress in her frills and furbelows set the whole café rocking with laughter. Pinchas took it as a tribute to his ingenious method of drawing the soubrette-serpent's fangs. He grinned placidly.