"In three days it will be lively!" calls out one.
"Pshshsh," cries another in ecstasy, "in three days' time the place will be packed!"
And Chayyim turns pale. He would like to call down a calamity on the fair, he wishes it might rain, snow, or storm on that day, so that not even a mad dog should come to the market-place; only Chayyim knows that Ulas is no weakling, Ulas is not afraid of the strongest wind—Ulas is Ulas!
And Chayyim's eyes are ready to start out of his head. A charitable loan—where is one to get a charitable loan? If only five and twenty rubles!
He asks it of everyone, but they only answer with a merry laugh:
"Are you mad? Money—just before a fair?"
And it seems to Chayyim that he really will go mad.
"Suppose you went across to Loibe-Bäres?" suggests his wife, who takes her full share in his distress.
"I had thought of that myself," answers Chayyim, meditatively.
"But what?" asks the wife.