Here the Jew unceremoniously interrupted the train of her recollections by pushing the things from before him. “Take what I offer, or else take your things away,” said he, shortly.
Mr and Mrs Bags grumbled considerably. The tea they positively refused at any price: Mr Bags didn’t like it, and Mrs Bags said it disagreed with her. So the Jew agreed to give them instead another bottle of rum, a pound of onions, and two pounds of beef; and with these terms they at length closed, and departed with the results of their barter.
During the altercation, a soldier of another regiment had entered, and stood silently awaiting his turn to be attended to. He was a gaunt man, with want written legibly in the hollows of his face and the dismal eagerness of his eye. He now came forward, and with trembling hands unfolded an old gown, and handed it to the Jew.
“’Tis no good to me,” said the latter, giving it back, after holding it against the light; “nothing but holes.”
“But my wife has no other,” said the man: “’tis her last stitch of clothes, except her petticoat and a blanket. I’ve brought everything else to you.”
The Jew shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands, in token that he could not help it.
“I swear ’tis her last!” reiterated the man, as if he really fancied this fact must give the garment as much value in the Jew’s eyes as in his own.
“I tell you I won’t have it!” said the Jew, testily.
“Give me only a loaf for it, or but one pound of potatoes,” said the soldier: “’tis more than my wife and four children have had among them for two days. Half-rations for one, among six of us, is too hard to live.”