'Well, we don't want foreigners, do we?' he murmured.
'And you caught an Englishman in Simeon Samuels,' chuckled the Parnass, in whose breast the defeat of his candidate had never ceased to rankle.
'Not he. An Englishman plays fair,' retorted Barzinsky. He seriously considered himself a Briton, regarding his naturalization papers as retrospective. 'We are just passing the Reverend Gabriel's house,' he went on. 'Let us wait a moment; he'll come along, and we'll give him a piece of our minds.'
'I can't keep my family waiting for Kiddush' (home service), said Peleg.
'Come home, father; I'm hungry,' put in Peleg junior, who with various Barzinsky boys had been trailing in the parental wake.
'Silence, impudent face!' snapped Barzinsky. 'If I was your father—— Ah, here comes the minister. Good Shabbos (Sabbath), Mr. Gabriel. I congratulate you on the effect of your last sermon.'
An exultant light leapt into the minister's eye. 'Is he shut?'
'Is your mouth shut?' Solomon replied scathingly. 'I doubt if he'll even come to Shool (synagogue) to-morrow.'
The ministerial mouth remained open in a fishy gasp, but no words came from it.
'I'm afraid you'll have to use stronger language, Mr. Gabriel,' said the Parnass soothingly.