"Vat helps me dat dere be other Schlemihls (unlucky persons)?" quoted Yankelé, with a sob. "How can I live midout you for a fader-in-law?"
"I am sorry for you—more sorry than I have ever been."
"Den you do care for me! I vill not give up hope. I vill not take no for no answer. Vat is dis blood dat it should divide Jew from Jew, dat it should prevent me becoming de son-in-law of de only man I have ever loved? Say not so. Let me ask you again—in a month or a year—even twelve months vould I vait, ven you vould only promise not to pledge yourself to anoder man."
"But if I became your father-in-law—mind, I only say if—not only would I not keep you, but you would have to keep my Deborah."
"And supposing?"
"But you are not able to keep a wife!"
"Not able? Who told you dat?" cried Yankelé indignantly.
"You yourself! Why, when I first befriended you, you told me you were blood-poor."
"Dat I told you as a Schnorrer. But now I speak to you as a suitor."
"True," admitted Manasseh, instantly appreciating the distinction.