“P’raps you’re surprised,” said Sugarman, “to get a call from me in my sealskin vest-coat.  But de fact is, marm, I put it on to call on a lady.  I only dropped in here on my vay.”

“Won’t you take a chair?” said Mrs. Hyams.  She spoke English painfully and slowly, having been schooled by Miriam.

“No, I’m not tired.  But I vill put Nechemyah down on one, if you permit.  Dere!  Sit still or I potch you!  P’raps you could lend me your corkscrew.”

“With pleasure,” said Mrs. Hyams.

“I dank you.  You see my boy, Ebenezer, is Barmitzvah next Shabbos a veek, and I may not be passing again.  You vill come?”

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Hyams hesitatingly.  She was not certain whether Miriam considered Sugarman on their visiting list.

“Don’t say dat, I expect to open dirteen bottles of lemonade!  You must come, you and Mr. Hyams and the whole family.”

“Thank you.  I will tell Miriam and Daniel and my husband.”

“Dat’s right.  Nechemyah, don’t dance on de good lady’s chair.  Did you hear, Mrs. Hyams, of Mrs. Jonas’s luck?”

“No.”

“I won her eleven pounds on the lotter_ee_.”

“How nice,” said Mrs. Hyams, a little fluttered.

“I would let you have half a ticket for two pounds.”

“I haven’t the money.”

“Vell, dirty-six shillings!  Dere!  I have to pay dat myself.”

“I would if I could, but I can’t.”

“But you can have an eighth for nine shillings.”

Mrs. Hyams shook her head hopelessly.

“How is your son Daniel?” Sugarman asked.

“Pretty well, thank you.  How is your wife?”

“Tank Gawd!”

“And your Bessie?”

“Tank Gawd!  Is your Daniel in?”

“Yes.”

“Tank Gawd!  I mean, can I see him?”

“It won’t do any good.”

“No, not dat,” said Sugarman.  “I should like to ask him to de Confirmation myself.”

“Daniel!” called Mrs. Hyams.

He came from the back yard in rolled-up shirt-sleeves, soap-suds drying on his arms.  He was a pleasant-faced, flaxen-haired young fellow, the junior of Miriam by eighteen months.  There was will in the lower part of the face and tenderness in the eyes.

“Good morning, sir,” said Sugarman.  “My Ebenezer is Barmitzvah next Shabbos week; vill you do me the honor to drop in wid your moder and fader after Shool?”

Daniel crimsoned suddenly.  He had “No” on his lips, but suppressed it and ultimately articulated it in some polite periphrasis.  His mother noticed the crimson.  On a blonde face it tells.

“Don’t say dat,” said Sugarman.  “I expect to open dirteen bottles of lemonade.  I have lent your good moder’s corkscrew.”

“I shall be pleased to send Ebenezer a little present, but I can’t come, I really can’t.  You must excuse me.”  Daniel turned away.