'Yes, I have taken it down.'
'To give to the widow Rubenstein?'
'What an idea!' said his grandmother seriously. 'It is in the bundle.'
'You are sending it away to Palestine?'
The grandmother fumbled with her spectacles, and removing them with trembling fingers blinked downwards at the bundle. Yossel snatched up his crutches, and propped himself manfully upon them.
'Your grandmother goes with me,' he explained decisively.
'What!' the artist gasped.
The grandmother's eyes met his unflinchingly; they had drawn fire from Yossel's. 'And why should I not go to Palestine too?' she said.
'But you are so old!'
'The more reason I should make haste if I am to be luckier than Moses our Master.' She readjusted her spectacles firmly.