“Awright, ‘Anner—there’s—there’s somebody upstairs to see you,” Simmons answered. And, as Bob Ford could see, a man went scuttling down the street in the gathering dusk. And behold, it was Thomas Simmons.
Ford reached the landing in three strides. His wife was still at the front door, staring after Simmons. He flung into the back room, threw open the window, dropped from the wash-house roof into the back yard, scrambled desperately over the fence, and disappeared into the gloom. He was seen by no living soul. And that is why Simmons’s base desertion—under his wife’s very eyes, too—is still an astonishment to the neighbours.
A ROSE OF THE GHETTO, By Israel Zangwill
One day it occurred to Leibel that he ought to get married. He went to Sugarman the Shadchan forthwith.
“I have the very thing for you,” said the great marriage broker.
“Is she pretty?” asked Leibel.
“Her father has a boot and shoe warehouse,” replied Sugarman, enthusiastically.
“Then there ought to be a dowry with her,” said Leibel, eagerly.
“Certainly a dowry! A fine man like you!”