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 be yours forever. . . (They leave the room singly, uttering profuse blessings. Yekel, behind his wife's back, throws them more food. The last woman speaks to Rifkele, loud enough for the others to hear.) Go, Rifkele, and prepare the robe for the Holy Scroll. Reb Ali will soon come, and the Scribe, too. (Rifkele goes into her room.)

To think that he had to boast before such people ! I tell you! . . . And otherwise, do you imagine, they wouldn't have come to you? Make a celebration every day, and every day you'll have them here. In respectable houses people know how to act so that they'll be looked up to. What do you think, — they're all like you, with your "Hello, good brother!" right away? What kind of host are you, anyway?

Do you expect respectable folks to come to your home? Have you forgotten who you are, perhaps?

"Who you are!" What! Have you stolen anything? You have a business. Everybody has his own business. You don't compel anybody, do you? You may deal in what you please, can't you, if you yourself do no wrong? . . . Just try to give them some money, and see whether they'll take it from you or not!