Chapter VII: Part 7

PRAS. This man is a thief and a murderer. He is a convict escaped from Siberia. He has no passport.

CORP. Is that true? Where is your passport?

SASHA. I have none.

CORP. We are looking for such men as you. Come!

SASHA. This woman is my mother.

CORP. That's her affair. You have no passport; that is enough for me. You'll soon be back on the road to the North with the rest of them.

SASHA. Woman! woman! Have pity on your son.

CORP. Come along, lad, and leave the old woman in peace.

[_Exit Sasha in custody._]

PRAS. The Lord help me!

[_Praskovya stumbles towards the eikons and sinks blindly before
them._]

FOMA [_looking after Sasha_]. Poor devil!

ASTERYI. What's a man compared to an idea?

[_Praskovya rolls over, dead._]

[_Curtain._]

MARY'S WEDDING

A PLAY

BY GILBERT CANNAN

Copyright, 1913, by Sidgwick and Jackson.
All rights reserved.

MARY'S WEDDING was first produced at the Coronet Theatre, in
May, 1912, with the following cast:

MARY _Miss Irene Rooke_
TOM _Mr. Herbert Lomas_
ANN _Miss Mary Goulden_
MRS. AIREY _Miss Muriel Pratt_
BILL AIREY _Mr. Charles Bibby_
TWO MAIDS.
VILLAGERS AND OTHERS.

SCENE: _The Davis's Cottage_.

NOTE: There is no attempt made in the play to reproduce exactly
the Westmoreland dialect, which would be unintelligible to ears
coming new to it, but only to catch the rough music of it and the
slow inflection of northern voices.

Reprinted from "Four Plays," by permission of Mr. Gilbert Cannan.

MARY'S WEDDING

A PLAY BY GILBERT CANNAN

[_The scene is the living-room in the Davis's cottage in the hill
country. An old room low in the ceiling. Ann Davis is at the table
in the center of the room untying a parcel. The door opens to
admit Tom Davis, a sturdy quarryman dressed in his best and
wearing a large nosegay._]

ANN. Well, 'ast seed un?

TOM. Ay, a seed un. 'Im and 'is ugly face--

ANN [_untying her parcel_].'Tis 'er dress come just in time an' no more from the maker-up--

TOM. Ef she wouldna do it....

ANN. But 'tis such long years she's been a-waitin'.... 'Tis long years since she bought t' dress.

TOM. An' 'tis long years she'll be a livin' wi' what she's been waitin' for; 'tis long years she'll live to think ower it and watch the thing she's taken for her man, an' long years that she'll find 'un feedin' on 'er, an' a dreary round she'll 'ave of et....

ANN. Three times she 'ave come to a month of weddin' an' three times 'e 'ave broke loose and gone down to the Mortal Man an' the woman that keeps 'arf our men in drink.... 'Tis she is the wicked one, giving 'em score an' score again 'till they owe more than they can ever pay with a year's money.

TOM. 'Tis a fearful thing to drink....

ANN. So I telled 'er in the beginnin' of it all, knowin' what like of man 'e was. An' so I telled 'er last night only.

TOM. She be set on it?

ANN. An', an' 'ere's t' pretty dress for 'er to be wedded in....

TOM. What did she say?

ANN. Twice she 'ave broke wi' 'im, and twice she 'ave said that ef 'e never touched the drink fur six months she would go to be churched wi' 'im. She never 'ave looked at another man.

TOM. Ay, she be one o' they quiet ones that goes about their work an' never 'as no romantical notions but love only the more for et. There've been men come for 'er that are twice the man that Bill is, but she never looks up from 'er work at 'em.

ANN. I think she must 'a' growed up lovin' Bill. 'Tis a set thing surely.

TOM. An' when that woman 'ad 'im again an' 'ad 'im roaring drunk fur a week, she never said owt but turned to 'er work agin an' set aside the things she was makin' agin the weddin'....

ANN. What did 'e say to 'er?

TOM. Nowt. 'E be 'most as chary o' words as she. 'E've got the 'ouse an' everything snug, and while 'e works 'e makes good money.

ANN. 'Twill not end, surely.

TOM. There was 'is father and two brothers all broken men by it.

[_She hears Mary on the stairs, and they are silent._]

ANN. 'Ere's yer pretty dress, Mary.

MARY. Ay.... Thankye, Tom.

TOM. 'Twill be lovely for ye, my dear, an' grand. 'Tis a fine day fur yer weddin', my dear....

MARY. I'll be sorry to go, Tom.

TOM. An' sorry we'll be to lose ye....

MARY. I'll put the dress on.

[_She throws the frock over her arm and goes out with it._]

ANN. Another girl would 'a' wedded him years ago in the first foolishness of it. But Mary, for all she says so little, 'as long, long thoughts that never comes to the likes o' you and me.... Another girl, when the day 'ad come at last, would 'a' been wild wi' the joy an' the fear o' it.... But Mary, she's sat on the fells under the stars, an' windin' among the sheep. D' ye mind the nights she's been out like an old shepherd wi' t' sheep? D' ye mind the nights when she was but a lile 'un an' we found 'er out in the dawn sleepin' snug again the side o' a fat ewe?

TOM. 'Tis not like a weddin' day for 'er.... If she'd 'ad a new dress, now--

ANN. I said to 'er would she like a new dress; but she would have only the old 'un cut an' shaped to be in the fashion.... Et 'as been a strange coortin', an' 'twill be a strange life for 'em both, I'm thinkin', for there seems no gladness in 'er, nor never was, for she never was foolish an' she never was young; but she was always like there was a great weight on 'er, so as she must be about the world alone, but always she 'ave turned to the little things an' the weak, an' always she 'ad some poor sick beast for tendin' or another woman's babe to 'old to 'er breast, an' I think sometimes that 'tis only because Bill is a poor sick beast wi' a poor sick soul that she be so set on 'im.

TOM. 'E be a sodden beast wi' never a soul to be saved or damned--

ANN. 'Cept for the drink, 'e've been a good son to 'is old mother when the others 'ud 'a' left 'er to rot i' the ditch, an' 'e was the on'y one as 'ud raise a finger again his father when the owd man, God rest him, was on to 'er like a madman. Drunk or sober 'e always was on 'is mother's side.

TOM. 'Twas a fearful 'ouse that.

ANN. 'Twas wonderful that for all they did to 'er, that wild old man wi' 'is wild young sons, she outlived 'em all, but never a one could she save from the curse that was on them, an', sober, they was the likeliest men 'n Troutbeck....

TOM. 'Tis when the rain comes and t' clouds come low an' black on the fells and the cold damp eats into a man's bones that the fearful thoughts come to 'im that must be drowned or 'im go mad--an' only the foreigners like me or them as 'as foreign blood new in 'em can 'old out again it; 'tis the curse o' livin' too long between two lines o' 'ills.

ANN. An' what that owd woman could never do, d'ye think our Mary'll do it? 'Im a Troutbeck man an' she a Troutbeck girl?

TOM. She've 'eld to 'er bargain an' brought 'im to it.

ANN. There's things that a maid can do that a wife cannot an' that's truth, an' shame it is to the men. [_Comes a knock at the door._] 'Tisn't time for t' weddin' folk.

[_Tom goes to the window._]

TOM. Gorm. 'Tis Mrs. Airey.

ANN. T' owd woman. She that 'as not been further than 'er garden-gate these ten years?

[_She goes to the door, opens it to admit Mrs. Airey, an old gaunt
woman just beginning to be bent with age._]

MRS. A. Good day to you, Tom Davis.

TOM. Good day to you, Mrs. Airey.

MRS. A. Good day to you, Ann Davis.

ANN. Good day to you, Mrs. Airey. Will ye sit down?

[_She dusts a chair and Mrs. Airey sits by the fireside. She sits
silent for a long while. Tom and Ann look uneasily at her and at
each other._]

MRS. A. So 'tis all ready for Bill's wedding.

TOM. Ay. 'Tis a fine day, an' the folks bid, and the sharry-bang got for to drive to Coniston, all the party of us. Will ye be coming, Mrs. Airey?

MRS. A. I'll not. [_Mrs. Airey sits silent again for long._] Is Mary in the 'ouse?

ANN. She be upstairs puttin' on 'er weddin' dress.

MRS. A. 'Tis the sad day of 'er life.... They're a rotten lot an' who should know et better than me? Bill's the best of 'em, but Bill's rotten.... Six months is not enough, nor six years nor sixty, not while 'er stays in Troutbeck rememberin' all that 'as been an' all the trouble that was in the 'ouse along o' it, and so I've come for to say it.

ANN. She growed up lovin' Bill, and 'tis a set thing. She've waited long years. 'Tis done now, an' what they make for theirselves they make, an' 'tis not for us to go speirin' for the trouble they may make for theirselves, but only to pray that it may pass them by....

MRS. A. But 'tis certain.... Six months is not enough, nor six years, nor sixty--

ANN. And are ye come for to tell Mary this...?

MRS. A. This and much more....

TOM. And what 'ave ye said to Bill?

MRS. A. Nowt. There never was a son would give 'eed to 'is mother.... 'Tisn't for 'im I'm thinkin', but for t' children that she's bear 'im. I 'oped, and went on 'opin' till there was no 'ope left in me, and I lived to curse the day that each one of my sons was born. John and Peter are dead an' left no child behind, and it were better for Bill also to leave no child behind. There's a day and 'alf a day o' peace and content for a woman with such a man, and there's long, long years of thinkin' on the peace and content that's gone. There's long, long years of watching the child that you've borne and suckled turn rotten, an' I say that t' birth-pangs are nowt to t' pangs that ye 'ave from the childer of such a man as Bill or Bill's father.... She's a strong girl an' a good girl; but there's this that is stronger than 'er.

[_Mary comes again, very pretty in her blue dress. She is at once
sensible of the strangeness in Tom and Ann. She stands looking
from one to the other. Mrs. Airey sits gazing into the fire._]

MARY. Why, mother ... 'tis kind of you to come on this morning.

MRS. A. Ay, 'tis kind of me. [_Ann steals away upstairs and Tom, taking the lead from her, goes out into the road._] Come 'ere, my pretty.

[_Mary goes and stands by her._]

MARY. The sun is shining and the bees all out and busy to gather in the honey.

MRS. A. 'Tis the bees as is t' wise people to work away in t' dark when t' sun is hidden, and to work away in t' sun when 'tis bright and light. 'Tis the bees as is t' wise people that takes their men an' kills 'em for the 'arm that they may do, and it's us that's the foolish ones to make soft the way of our men an' let them strut before us and lie; and 'tis us that's the foolish ones ever to give a thought to their needs that give never a one to ours.

MARY. 'Tis us that's t' glorious ones to 'elp them that is so weak, and 'tis us that's the brave and the kind ones to let them 'ave the 'ole world to play with when they will give never a thought to us that gives it t' 'em.

MRS. A. My pretty, my pretty, there's never a one of us can 'elp a man that thinks 'isself a man an' strong, poor fool, an' there's never a one of us can 'elp a man that's got a curse on 'im and is rotten through to t' bone, an' not one day can you be a 'elp to such a man as this....

MARY. There's not one day that I will not try, and not one day that I will not fight to win 'im back....

MRS. A. The life of a woman is a sorrowful thing....

MARY. For all its sorrow, 'tis a greater thing than t' life of a man ... an' so I'll live it....

MRS. A. Now you're strong and you're young.--'Ope's with ye still and life all before ye--and so I thought when my day came, and so I did. There was a day and 'alf a day of peace and content, and there was long, long years of thinking on the peace and content that are gone.... Four men all gone the same road, and me left looking down the way that they are gone and seeing it all black as the pit.... I be a poor old woman now with never a creature to come near me in kindness, an' I was such a poor old woman before ever the 'alf of life was gone, an' so you'll be if you take my son for your man. He's the best of my sons, but I curse the day that ever he was born....

MARY. There was never a man the like of Bill. If ye see 'un striding the 'ill, ye know 'tis a man by 'is strong, long stride; and if ye see 'un leapin' an' screein' down th' 'ill, ye know 'tis a man; and if we see 'un in t' quarry, ye know 'tis a strong man....

MRS. A. An' if ye see 'un lyin' drunk i' the ditch, not roarin' drunk, but rotten drunk, wi' 'is face fouled an' 'is clothes mucked, ye know 'tis the lowest creature of the world.

[_Mary stands staring straight in front of her._]

MARY. Is it for this that ye come to me to-day?

MRS. A. Ay, for this: that ye may send 'un back to 'is rottenness, for back to it 'e'll surely go when 'tis too late, an' you a poor old woman like me, with never a creature to come near ye in kindness, before ever the bloom 'as gone from your bonny cheeks, an' maybe childer that'll grow up bonny an' then be blighted for all the tenderness ye give to them; an' those days will be the worst of all--far worse than the day when ye turn for good an' all into yourself from t' man that will give ye nowt.... 'Tis truly the bees as is the wise people....

MARY. It's a weary waitin' that I've had, and better the day and 'alf a day of peace and content with all the long years of thinking on it than all the long, long years of my life to go on waitin' and waitin' for what has passed me by, for if he be the rottenest, meanest man in t' world that ever was made, there is no other that I can see or ever will. It is no wild foolishness that I am doing: I never was like that; but it's a thing that's growed wi' me an' is a part o' me--an' though every day o' my life were set before me now so I could see to the very end, an' every day sadder and blacker than the last, I'd not turn back. I gave 'im the bargain, years back now, and three times e' 'as failed me; but 'e sets store by me enough to do this for me a fourth time--'Twas kind of ye to come....

MRS. A. You're strong an' you're young, but there's this that's stronger than yourself--

MARY. Maybe, but 'twill not be for want o' fightin' wi' 't.

MRS. A. 'Twill steal on ye when you're weakest, an' come on ye in your greatest need....

MARY. It 'as come to this day an' there is no goin' back. D' ye think I've not seed t' soft, gentle things that are given to other women, an' not envied them? D' ye think I've not seed 'em walkin' shut-eyed into all sorts o' foolishness an' never askin' for the trewth o' it, an' not envied 'em for doin' that? D' ye think I've not seed the girls I growed wi' matin' lightly an' lightly weddin', an' not envied 'em for that, they wi' a 'ouse an' babes an' me drudgin' away in t' farm, me wi' my man to 'and an' only this agin 'im? D' ye think I've not been tore in two wi' wantin' to close my eyes an' walk like others into it an' never think what is to come? There's many an' many a night that I've sat there under t' stars wi' t' three counties afore me an' t' sea, an' t' sheep croppin', an' my own thoughts for all the comp'ny that I 'ad, an' fightin' this way an' that for to take 'up an' let 'un be so rotten, as ever 'e might be; an' there's many an' many a night when the thoughts come so fast that they hurt me an' I lay pressed close to t' ground wi' me 'ands clawin' at it an' me teeth bitin' into t' ground for to get closer an' 'ide from myself; an' many a night when I sat there seein' the man as t' brave lad 'e was when I seed 'un first leapin' down the 'ill, an' knowin' that nothin' in the world, nothin' that I could do to 'un or that 'e could do 'isself, would ever take that fro' me.... In all my time o' my weary waitin' there 'as never been a soul that I told so much to, an' God knows there never 'as been an' never will be a time when I can tell as much to 'im....

MRS. A. My pretty, my pretty, 'tis a waste an' a wicked, wicked waste....

MARY. 'Tis a day an' alf a day agin never a moment....

MRS. A. 'Tis that, and so 'tis wi' all o' us ... an' so 'twill be.... God bless ye, my dear....

[_Ann comes down. Mary is looking out of the window._]

ANN. Ye forgot the ribbon for yer 'air, that I fetched 'specially fro' t' town.

MARY. Why, yes. Will ye tie it, Ann?

[_Ann ties the ribbon in her hair._]

MRS. A. Pretty, my dear, oh! pretty--

MARY. I'm to walk to t' church o' Tom's arm...?

ANN. An' I to Tom's left; wi' the bridesmaids be'ind, an' the rest a followin'....

[_Tom returns, followed by two girls bringing armfuls of flowers.
With these they deck the room, and keep the choicest blooms for
Mary. Ann and the three girls are busied with making Mary reach
her most beautiful. Mrs. Airey goes. At intervals one villager and
another comes to give greeting or to bring some small offering of
food or some small article of clothing. Mary thanks them all with
rare natural grace. They call her fine, and ejaculate remarks of
admiration: "The purty bride...." "She's beautiful...." "'Tis a
lucky lad, Bill Airey...." The church bell begins to ring.... All
is prepared and all are ready.... Mary is given her gloves, which
she draws on--when the door is thrown open and Bill Airey lunges
against the lintel of the door and stands leering. He is just
sober enough to know what he is at. He is near tears, poor
wretch. He is not horribly drunk. He stands surveying the group
and they him._]

BILL. I come--I come--I--c-come for to--to--to--show--to show myself....

[_He turns in utter misery and goes. Mary plucks the flowers from
her bosom and lets them fall to the ground; draws her gloves off
her hands and lets them fall. The bell continues to ring._]

[_Curtain._]

THE BABY CARRIAGE

A PLAY

BY BOSWORTH CROCKER

Copyright, 1920, by Bosworth Crocker.
All rights reserved.

THE BABY CARRIAGE was originally produced by the Provincetown Players,
New York, February 14, 1919, with the following cast:

MRS. LEZINSKY _Dorothy Miller._
MRS. ROONEY _Alice Dostetter._
MR. ROSENBLOOM _W. Clay Hill._
SOLOMON LEZINSKY _O. K. Liveright._

PLACE: _The Lezinsky Tailor Shop_.
TIME: _To-day_.

Application for the right of performing THE BABY CARRIAGE must be made
to Mr. Bosworth Crocker, in care of the Society of American Dramatists
and Composers, 148 West 45th Street, New York, or The Authors' League,
Union Square, New York.

THE BABY CARRIAGE

A PLAY BY BOSWORTH CROCKER

[_THE SCENE is an ordinary tailor shop two steps down from the
sidewalk. Mirror on one side. Equipment third rate. Mrs. Solomon
Lezinsky, alone in the shop, is examining a torn pair of trousers
as Mrs. Rooney comes in._]

MRS. LEZINSKY [_27 years old, medium height and weight, dark, attractive. In a pleased voice with a slight Yiddish accent_]. Mrs. Rooney!

MRS. ROONEY [_30 years old. A plump and pretty Irish woman_]. I only ran in for a minute to bring you these. [_Holds up a pair of roller skates and a picture book._] Eileen's out there in the carriage. [_Both women look out at the baby-carriage in front of the window._]

MRS. LEZINSKY. Bring her in, Mrs. Rooney. Such a beautiful child--your Eileen!

MRS. ROONEY. Can't stop--where's the kids?

MRS. LEZINSKY. The janitress takes them to the moving pictures with her Izzy.

MRS. ROONEY. You wouldn't believe the things I've run across this day, packing. [_Puts down the skates._] I'm thinking these skates'll fit one of your lads. My Mickey--God rest his soul!--used to tear around great on them.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Fine, Mrs. Rooney! [_Examines the skates._ But couldn't you save them for Eileen?

MRS. ROONEY. Sure, she'd be long growing up to them and they be laying by gathering the rust.

MRS. LEZINSKY. My David and Julius and Benny could die for joy with these fine skates, I tell you, Mrs. Rooney.

MRS. ROONEY. Here's an old book [_hands Mrs. Lezinsky the book_], but too good to throw away entirely.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_opens the book_]. Fine, Mrs. Rooney! Such a book with pictures in it! My Benny's wild for picture books. Julius reads, reads--always learning. Something wonderful, I tell you. Just like the papa--my Solly ruins himself with his nose always stuck in the Torah.

MRS. ROONEY. The Toro? 'Tis a book I never heard tell of.

MRS. LEZINSKY. The law and the prophets--my Solly was meant to be a rabbi once.

MRS. ROONEY. A rabbi?

MRS. LEZINSKY. You know what a rabbi is by us, Mrs. Rooney?

MRS. ROONEY. Indeed, I know what a rabbi is, Mrs. Lezinsky--a rabbi is a Jewish priest.

MRS. LEZINSKY. You don't hate the Jewish religion, Mrs. Rooney?

MRS. ROONEY. Every one has a right to their own religion. Some of us are born Jewish--like you, Mrs. Lezinsky, and some are born Catholics, like me.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Catholics like you are fine, Mrs. Rooney. Such a good neighbor! A good customer, too! Why should you move away now, Mrs. Rooney?

MRS. ROONEY. The air in the Bronx will be fine for Eileen. 'Tis a great pity you couldn't be moving there, yourself. With the fresh air and the cheap rent, 'twould be great for yourself and the boys--not to mention the baby that's coming to you.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Thank God, that don't happen for a little while yet. But in the hottest weather--maybe--some Septembers--even so late yet--ain't it, Mrs. Rooney? Always trouble by us. Such expense, too. The agent takes the rent to-day. With Solly's eyes so bad it's a blessing when we can pay the rent even. And the gas bills! So much pants pressing! See? They send us this already. [_Shows a paper._] A notice to pay right away or they shut it off. Only ten days overdue. Would you believe it, Mrs. Rooney? Maybe we catch up a little next month. It don't pay no longer, this business. And soon now another mouth to feed, and still my Solly sticks by his learning.

MRS. ROONEY. But he can't be a rabbi now, can he?

MRS. LEZINSKY. He can't be a rabbi now, no more, Mrs. Rooney, but such a pious man--my Solly. He must be a poor tailor, but he never gives up his learning--not for anything he gives that up. Learning's good for my David and Julius and Benny soon, but it's bad for my Solly. It leaves him no eyes for the business, Mrs. Rooney.

MRS. ROONEY. And are the poor eyes as bad as ever?

MRS. LEZINSKY. How should his eyes get better when he gives them no chance? Always he should have an operation and the operation--it don't help--maybe. [_Mrs. Rooney turns to the door._] Must you go so quick, Mrs. Rooney? Now you move away, I never see you any more.

MRS. ROONEY. The subway runs in front of the house.

MRS. LEZINSKY. I tell you something, Mrs. Rooney: Solly couldn't keep the shop open without me. Sometimes his eyes go back on him altogether. And he should get an operation. But that costs something, I tell you, Mrs. Rooney. The doctors get rich from that. It costs something, that operation. And then, sometimes, may be it don't help.

MRS. ROONEY. 'Tis too bad, altogether. [_Looks at the baby-carriage._] Wait a minute, Mrs. Lezinsky. [_Starts out._]

MRS. LEZINSKY [_as Mrs. Rooney goes_]. What is it, Mrs. Rooney?

MRS. ROONEY [_just outside the door, calls out_]. Something else--I forgot. 'Tis out here in the carriage.

[_Mrs. Lezinsky threads a needle and begins to sew buttons on a
lady's coat. Mrs. Rooney comes back carrying a small square
package wrapped in newspaper._]

MRS. ROONEY. Here's something. You'll like this, Mrs. Lezinsky. It belongs to Eileen.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_looking out at the child in the carriage_]. Was her collar stitched all right, Mrs. Rooney?

MRS. ROONEY. It was that. Fits her coat perfect. See the new cap on her? 'Twas for her birthday I bought it. Three years old now. Getting that big I can feel the weight of her.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Such a beautiful little girl, Mrs. Rooney! And such stylish clothes you buy for her. My David should have a new suit from his papa's right away now. Then we fix the old one over for Julius. Maybe my Benny gets a little good out of that suit too, sometime. We couldn't afford to buy new clothes. We should first get all the wear out of the old ones. Yes, Mrs. Rooney. Anyhow, boys! It don't so much matter. But girls! Girls is different. And such a beautiful little girl like Eileen!

MRS. ROONEY. She'll be spoilt on me entirely--every one giving her her own way. [_In a gush of mother-pride._] 'Tis the darling she is--anyhow.

MRS. LEZINSKY. O, Mrs. Rooney, I could wish to have one just like her, I tell you, such a beautiful little girl just like her.

MRS. ROONEY. Maybe you will, Mrs. Lezinsky, maybe you will.

MRS. LEZINSKY. She sleeps nice in that baby-carriage.

MRS. ROONEY. 'Tis the last time she sleeps in it.

MRS. LEZINSKY. The last time, what?

MRS. ROONEY. Her pa'll be after buying me a go-cart for her now we're moving. 'Tis destroying me--the hauling that up and down stairs.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Such a gorgeous baby-carriage--all fresh painted--white--

MRS. ROONEY. It's fine for them that likes it. As for me--I'm that tired of dragging it, I'd rather be leaving it behind.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_her face aglow_]. What happens to that carriage, Mrs. Rooney?

MRS. ROONEY. I'll be selling it.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Who buys that carriage, Mrs. Rooney?

MRS. ROONEY. More than one has their eye on it, but I'll get my price. Mrs. Cohen has spoke for it.

MRS. LEZINSKY. How much you ask for that carriage, Mrs. Rooney?

MRS. ROONEY. Sure, and I'd let it go for a $5 bill, Mrs. Lezinsky.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_her face falls_]. Maybe you get that $5 ... Mrs. Rooney. Those Cohens make money by that stationery business.

MRS. ROONEY. And sure, the secondhand man would pay me as much.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_longingly_]. My David and Julius and Benny--they never had such a baby-carriage--in all their lives they never rode in a baby-carriage. My babies was pretty babies, too. And smart, Mrs. Rooney! You wouldn't believe it. My Benny was the smartest of the lot. When he was 18 months old, he puts two words together already.

MRS. ROONEY. He's a keener--that one. [_Unwraps the package._] I'm clean forgetting the basket. [_Holds it out to Mrs. Lezinsky's delighted gaze._] Now there you are--as good as new--Mrs. Lezinsky--and when you do be sticking the safety pins into the cushion [_she points out the cushion_] you can mind my Eileen. Some of the pinholes is rusty like, but the pins'll cover it--that it was herself gave your baby its first present.

MRS. LEZINSKY. O, Mrs. Rooney, such a beautiful basket! Such a beautiful, stylish basket!

MRS. ROONEY. And here's a box for the powder. [_Opens a celluloid box and takes out a powder puff._] And here's an old puff. Sure the puff will do if you're not too particular.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_handling the things_]. Why should I be so particular? In all their lives my David and Julius and Benny never had such a box and puff, I tell you, Mrs. Rooney.

MRS. ROONEY [_points_]. Them little pockets is to stick things in.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Should you give away such a basket, Mrs. Rooney?

MRS. ROONEY. What good is it but to clutter up the closet, knocking about in my way.

MRS. LEZINSKY. My David and Julius and Benny, they never had such a basket, but my cousin, Morris Schapiro's wife,--she had such a basket--for her baby. All lined with pink it was.

MRS. ROONEY. Pink is for boys. I wanted a girl, having Mickey then.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Me, too, Mrs. Rooney. Three boys! Now it's time it should be a little girl. Yes, Mrs. Rooney. A little girl like Eileen.

MRS. ROONEY. Sure, then, if you're going by the basket 'tis a little girl you have coming to you. Blue's for girls.... A comb and a brush for it--you can buy.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Combs and brushes! What should I do with combs and brushes? My David and Julius and Benny are all born bald.

MRS. ROONEY. Sure, Eileen had the finest head of curls was ever seen on a baby--little soft yellow curls--like the down on a bird.

MRS. LEZINSKY. If I should have a little girl--like your Eileen--my David and Julius and Benny--they die for joy over their little sister, I tell you, Mrs. Rooney. Yes, it should be a girl and I name her Eileen. Such pretty names for girls: Eileen and Hazel and Gladys and Goldie. Goldie's a pretty name, too. I like that name so much I call myself Goldie when I go to school. Gietel's my Jewish name. Ugly? Yes, Mrs. Rooney? Goldie's better--much better. But Eileen's the best of all. Eileen's a gorgeous name. I name her Eileen, I do assure you. She should have another name, too, for Solly. Zipporah, maybe--for her dead grandmother.

MRS. ROONEY. Sure, Eileen has a second name: Bridget. 'Tis for my mother in the old country. A saint's name. Her father chose it for her. Bridget's a grand name--that--too.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Zipporah--that was Solly's mother.... But I call her Eileen.

MRS. ROONEY. That's a grand compliment, Mrs. Lezinsky, and 'tis myself would stand godmother for her should you be wanting me to.

MRS. LEZINSKY. I'm sorry, Mrs. Rooney, by our religion we don't have such god-mothers.

MRS. ROONEY. I'll be running on now not to keep you from your work and so much of it with your poor man and the drops in his sick eyes. Here! [_She puts half a dollar into Mrs. Lezinsky's hand._]

MRS. LEZINSKY. For what?

MRS. ROONEY. For Mr. Lezinsky stitching the collar on Eileen's coat.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_trying to make Mrs. Rooney take it back_]. Mrs. Rooney--if you wouldn't insult me--please--when you bring all these lovely things.... [_Mrs. Rooney pushes the money away._] And so you sell that fine baby-carriage.... That carriage holds my Benny, too, maybe?

MRS. ROONEY. Sure. Easy.

MRS. LEZINSKY. My David and Julius--they could wheel that carriage. The little sister sleeps in it. And my Benny--he rides at the foot. $5 is cheap for that elegant carriage when you should happen to have so much money. I ask my Solly. Do me the favor, Mrs. Rooney--you should speak to me first before you give it to Mrs. Cohen--yes?

MRS. ROONEY. Sure I will. I'll be leaving the carriage outside and carry the child up. You and Mr. Lezinsky can be making up your minds. [_Mrs. Rooney looks through the window at a man turning in from the street._] Is it himself coming home?

MRS. LEZINSKY. Any time now, Mrs. Rooney, he comes from the doctor.

MRS. ROONEY. 'Tis not himself. 'Tis some customer.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_as the door opens_]. It's Mr. Rosenbloom.

MRS. ROONEY. See you later. [_Rushes out. Through the window Mrs. Lezinsky watches her take the child out of the carriage._]

MRS. LEZINSKY [_sighs, turns to her customer_]. O, Mr. Rosenbloom! Glad to see you, Mr. Rosenbloom. You well now, Mr. Rosenbloom?

MR. ROSENBLOOM. Able to get around once more, Mrs. Lezinsky.

MRS. LEZINSKY. I hope you keep that way. You got thinner with your sickness. You lose your face, Mr. Rosenbloom. [_He hands her a coat and a pair of trousers._] Why should you bother to bring them in? I could send my David or Julius for them.

MR. ROSENBLOOM. Right on my way to the barber-shop. The coat's a little loose now. [_Slips off his coat and puts on the other._] Across the back. See?

MRS. LEZINSKY. He should take it in a little on the shoulders, Mr. Rosenbloom?

MR. ROSENBLOOM [_considers_]. It wouldn't pay--so much alterations for this particular suit.

MRS. LEZINSKY. It's a good suit, Mr. Rosenbloom.

MR. ROSENBLOOM. He should just shorten the sleeves. Those sleeves were from the first a little too long.

[_He slips the coat off. Mrs. Lezinsky measures coat sleeve
against his bent arm._]

MRS. LEZINSKY. About how much, Mr. Rosenbloom? Say--an inch?

MR. ROSENBLOOM. An inch or an inch and a half--maybe.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_measures again_]. I think that makes them too short, Mr. Rosenbloom. One inch is plenty.

MR. ROSENBLOOM. All right--one inch, then.

MRS. LEZINSKY. One inch.... All right, Mr. Rosenbloom--one inch.

MR. ROSENBLOOM. How soon will they be ready?

MRS. LEZINSKY. Maybe to-morrow. He lets all this other work go--maybe--and sets to work on them right away when he gets back home.

MR. ROSENBLOOM. All right.

MRS. LEZINSKY. I send my David or Julius with them, Mr. Rosenbloom?

MR. ROSENBLOOM. I'll stop in the evening and try the coat on.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Maybe it wouldn't be ready to try on so soon--All right, Mr. Rosenbloom, this evening you come in. [_She calls after him as he goes out._] O, Mr. Rosenbloom! The pants? What should he do to the pants?

MR. ROSENBLOOM [_from the doorway_]. Press them. [_He turns back._] Press the--whole thing--suit.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Press them. Sure. Press the suit. A fine suit. Certainly a fine piece of goods, Mr. Rosenbloom. Did my husband make it up for you?

MR. ROSENBLOOM. Yes.

MRS. LEZINSKY. I thought so. Wears like iron, too, this goods. Yes, Mr. Rosenbloom? With one eye my husband picks the best pieces of goods I tell you, Mr. Rosenbloom.... He should shorten the sleeves one inch.... All right, he fixes it to your satisfaction, Mr. Rosenbloom--

MR. ROSENBLOOM. Yes, yes. [_Impatiently edges toward the door._]

MRS. LEZINSKY. This evening you come for them?

[_He nods and hurries out._]

MRS. LEZINSKY. Five dollars! [_Drops everything and stands looking dreamily through the shop window at the baby-carriage. She takes a roll of money from her bosom and counts it. Shakes her head dispiritedly and sighs. She makes an estimate of the money coming in from the work on hand. Pointing to Mr. Rosenbloom's suit._] Two dollars for that--[_Turns from the suit to a pair of torn trousers._] Half a dollar, anyhow--[_Points to the lady's coat on which she has been sewing buttons._] A dollar--maybe--[_Hears some one coming, thrusts the roll of money back into her bosom._]

LEZINSKY [_comes in. Spare. Medium height. Pronounced Semitic type. He wears glasses with very thick lenses._] Where are the children?

MRS. LEZINSKY. Mrs. Klein takes them to the moving pictures with her Izzy.

LEZINSKY. Always to the moving pictures! The children go blind, too, pretty soon.

MRS. LEZINSKY. The doctor didn't make your eyes no better, Solly?

LEZINSKY. How should he make them better when he says all the time: "Don't use them." And all the time a man must keep right on working to put bread in the mouths of his children. And soon, now, another one comes--nebbich!

MRS. LEZINSKY. Maybe your eyes get much better now when our little Eileen comes.

LEZINSKY. Better a boy, Goldie: that helps more in the business.

MRS. LEZINSKY. It's time our David and Julius and Benny should have a little sister now. They like that. Such another little girl like Mrs. Rooney's Eileen. When it is, maybe, a girl, we call her Eileen--like Mrs. Rooney's Eileen. Such a gorgeous name--that Eileen! Yes, Solly?

LEZINSKY. Eileen! A Goy name! She should be Rebecca for your mother or Zipporah for mine.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Sure. Zipporah, too, Solly--Eileen Zipporah! When there should be sometime--another boy, Solly, then you name him what you like. When it a little girl--Eileen. I dress her up stylish. Such beautiful things they have in Gumpertz's window. And--Mrs. Rooney sells her baby-carriage. [_Both look out at the carriage._] She gives it away.

LEZINSKY. She gives you a baby-carriage?

MRS. LEZINSKY. For five dollars she gives me that lovely carriage good as new--all fresh painted white--and the little Eileen Zipporah sleeps at the head and Benny rides at the foot by his little sister. So elegant--Solly!

LEZINSKY. I put my eyes out to earn the bread and this woman--she should buy a baby-carriage. Oi! Oi!

MRS. LEZINSKY [_points to carriage_]. Such a baby-carriage what Mrs. Rooney has--it only happens to us once, Solly. Only five one-dollars--all fresh painted white--just like new--and such a cover to keep out the sun. She gets a little new go-cart for Eileen. Otherwise she don't give up such an elegant carriage what cost her more money than we could even see at one time except for rents and gas-bills. Five dollars is cheap for that carriage. Five dollars is nothing for that carriage I tell you, Solly. Nothing at all. She sells it now before she moves to the Bronx this afternoon. Such a bargain we shouldn't lose, Solly--even if we don't pay all the money right away down. Yes, Solly? And Mrs. Rooney--she gives our David and Julius and Benny skates and a picture book--and their little sister this fine basket. [_Shows him the basket._] Yes, Solly. Shouldn't we make sure to buy this baby-carriage? Only five dollars, Solly, this baby-carriage--

LEZINSKY. Baby-carriage! Baby-carriage! If I had so much money for baby-carriages I hire me a cutter here. This way I go blind.

MRS. LEZINSKY. No, but by reading the Torah! And that way you lose good custom, too. [_Wheedling him again._] Maybe you get good business and hire you a cutter when the little Eileen comes. Five dollars! Does that pay wages to a cutter? Yes, Solly? But it buys once a beautiful baby-carriage, and David and Julius go wild to ride their little sister in it--and Benny at the foot.

LEZINSKY [_waving his arms_]. I should have a cutter not to lose my customers--and this woman--she would have a baby-carriage. I lose my eyes, but she would have a baby-carriage.

MRS. LEZINSKY. But it costs only five dollars. What costs a cutter?

LEZINSKY. At Union wages! I might as well ask for the moon, Goldie. Oi! Oi! Soon we all starve together.

MRS. LEZINSKY. You hire you a cheap hand here, Solly. He does pressing and all the dirty work. He works and you boss him around. That looks good to the customers. Yes, Solly? And I save up that five dollars soon and give it back to you. Yes, Solly? Business goes better now already when people come back from the country and everything picks up a little. I help now and we spare that five dollars. Mr. Rosenbloom brings us a little work. See? [_She points to the coat._] You should make the sleeves shorter--one inch. Mr. Rosenbloom gets thinner by his sickness. His clothes hang a little loose on him.

LEZINSKY [_looks at the trousers_]. And the pants?

MRS. LEZINSKY. Mr. Rosenbloom didn't lose his stomach by his sickness. He only loses his face.

LEZINSKY. Such a _chutzpah_!

MRS. LEZINSKY. Yes, nothing makes Mr. Rosenbloom to lose his cheek, ain't it, Solly? And plenty roast goose has he to fill up his stomach. By us is no more roast goose nowadays.

LEZINSKY. We make up what we didn't get here maybe in the world to come, Goldie _leben_.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Roast goose in the world to come! Such a business! Angels shouldn't eat, Solly. I take my roast goose now--then I sure get it.... How much you charge Mr. Rosenbloom for this [_points to the suit_], Solly?

LEZINSKY. One dollar and a half--maybe.

MRS. LEZINSKY. For such a job my cousin Morris Schapiro gets three dollars and not too dear then. Everything goes 'way up and you stay 'way behind. You should raise your prices. No wonder we shall all starve together. It's not baby-carriages what ruin us. Did our David or Julius or Benny ever have such a baby-carriage? No. But it is that you let the customers steal your work.

LEZINSKY. All right--I charge two dollars.

MRS. LEZINSKY. What good should half a dollar do? Three dollars, Solly.

LEZINSKY. Two dollars. Three dollars swindles him.

MRS. LEZINSKY. All right--then two dollars. Fifty cents is fifty cents anyhow. [_She goes up to him and presses her face against his._] Solly, leben, shouldn't our David and Julius and Benny have a baby-carriage for their little sister?

LEZINSKY. Baby-carriage--Oi! Peace, Goldie, my head aches.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_picking up the trousers_]. How much for these, Solly?

LEZINSKY. One dollar.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_derisively_]. One dollar you say! And for the lady's coat?

LEZINSKY. A couple of dollars, anyway.

MRS. LEZINSKY. A couple of dollars anyway! And he thinks he does good business when he charges a couple of dollars anyway. And for that, my cousin, Morris Schapiro charges three dollars each. A couple of dollars! Your children will be left without bread. [_He mutters phrases from the Torah._] You hear me, Solly? [_He goes on with his prayers._] Prayers are what he answers me. Soon you pray in the streets.

LEZINSKY. Woe is me! Woe is me!

MRS. LEZINSKY. Could he even answer me? Yes, if it was roast goose I was asking for or black satin for a decent _Shabbos_ dress. But no! [_Satirically._] Maybe you even get roast goose from your learning.... Yes--on account of your praying we all have to go a begging yet.

LEZINSKY. To-morrow is _Rosch Hoschana_, Gietel.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Does _Rosch Hoschana_ mean a roast goose by us? Does it even mean a baby-carriage what costs five dollars?

LEZINSKY. Roast goose and baby-carriage! You have no pious thoughts.... Go away.... My head swims.

MRS. LEZINSKY. That comes by fasting. Don't you fast enough every day?

LEZINSKY. She comes now to roast goose again.

MRS. LEZINSKY. What should I care for roast goose? _Rosch Hoschana_ comes next year again. But the baby-carriage--it never comes again.

LEZINSKY. Baby-carriage! Baby-carriage! When you should fast and pray....

MRS. LEZINSKY. What! Should I fast and give our David and Julius and Benny a shadow--maybe--for a little sister?... But--yes--I fast, too ... that--even--for such a baby carriage. O, Solly--that much we all do--for our little Eileen.

LEZINSKY [_wearily, putting his hands to his eyes_]. All right. How much money have you got there--Gietel?

MRS. LEZINSKY [_sweetly_]. Now call me Goldie, Solly, so I know you ain't mad.

LEZINSKY. Yes, yes.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Goldie--say it--Solly leben--Go on--count it--Goldie. [_She takes the money out and they count it together._]

MR. AND MRS. LEZINSKY [_together_]. One.... [_Counting out another dollar bill_]--Two.... [_Counting out a third dollar bill_]--Three.... [_Counting out a two-dollar bill_]--Five dollars.... [_Another two-dollar bill_]--Seven dollars.... [_A ten-dollar bill_]--Seventeen.... [_Another ten-dollar bill_]--Twenty-seven.... [_The last ten-dollar bill_]--Thirty-seven.

LEZINSKY. Thirty-seven dollars in all--the rent and the gas!

MRS. LEZINSKY. And a little over, Solly, to pay on the baby carriage.

LEZINSKY. And to-morrow _Rosch Hoschana_. Shall we starve the children on Rosch Hoschana?

MRS. LEZINSKY. They could go a little hungry once for their little sister, Eileen.

LEZINSKY. Don't be too sure, Goldie, maybe another boy comes.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Well, even if--it needs the fresh air, too.

LEZINSKY [_firmly after a moment's thought_]. No, Goldie, it couldn't be done. In the spring we buy a baby-carriage.

MRS. LEZINSKY. You think she waits till spring to sell that baby-carriage? She sells it now before she moves away--now, this afternoon, I tell you.

LEZINSKY. Well, we buy another carriage, then.

MRS. LEZINSKY. You don't find such a bargain again anytime. She gives it away.

LEZINSKY. My eyes get much better soon--now--by the operation.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Operation! Operation! Always operations! And the baby comes. No carriage for our David and Julius to wheel her in--with our Benny at the foot--in the fresh air--and she dies on us in the heat next summer--maybe--and David and Julius and Benny--they lose their little sister.

LEZINSKY. Didn't David and Julius and Benny live without a baby-carriage?

MRS. LEZINSKY. Yes, a mile to the park, maybe, and I carry them to the fresh air. And a baby-carriage for her costs five dollars. What time shall I have for that with all the extra work and my back broken? In such a baby-carriage the little sister sleeps from morning to night--on the sidewalk by the stoop; she gets fat and healthy from that baby-carriage.

LEZINSKY. When I could pay for the operation, maybe--then--

MRS. LEZINSKY [_despairingly_]. Operations again--always operations!

LEZINSKY. Go away, Goldie, I must work.

MRS. LEZINSKY. I advise you not to have that operation now. He steals your money and don't help your eyes. Get another doctor. But baby-carriages like this ain't so plenty.

LEZINSKY. God of Israel, shall I go blind because you would have a baby-carriage for our unborn son?

MRS. LEZINSKY. No, but by reading the Torah--and that way you lose good customers, too--and she shall die in the heat because David and Julius cannot push her in that baby-carriage.

LEZINSKY. Go away, Gietel, I have work to do. Maybe you could rip out the sleeves from Mr. Rosenbloom's coat?

MRS. LEZINSKY. I do anything--anything you like, Solly, for that baby-carriage.... Yes, I rip out the sleeves when I finish sewing on the buttons.... I do anything--anything--so we get this baby carriage. We never get another such carriage.

LEZINSKY. God of Israel, will she never hear me when I say: No!

MRS. LEZINSKY. Then--Mrs. Cohen--she gets that baby carriage--and every day of my life I see it go past my window--and the little sister--she goes without. [_She picks up Mr. Rosenbloom's coat, looks it over and finds a small wallet in the breast pocket. Tucks the wallet into her bosom. Fiercely, half-aloud, but to herself._] No! No! Mrs. Cohen shouldn't get that baby-carriage--whatever happens--she shouldn't get it. [_She crosses to the mirror, pulls the wallet from her bosom, hurriedly counts the money in it, glances at her husband, then takes out a five-dollar bill. She hears a noise outside and makes a move as though to restore the money to the wallet, but at the sound of steps on the stoop, she thrusts the loose bill into her bosom. As Mr. Rosenbloom comes in she has only time to stick the wallet back into the coat. Picks up the lady's coat and sews on buttons vigorously._]

MR. ROSENBLOOM. I left my wallet in that coat.

LEZINSKY [_with a motion of his head toward the coat_]. Goldie.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_sewing the buttons onto the lady's coat_]. In which pocket, Mr. Rosenbloom?

MR. ROSENBLOOM [_crosses to coat_]. You don't begin work on it, yet?

MRS. LEZINSKY [_slowly puts her work aside_]. I rip the sleeves out so soon I sew these buttons on, Mr. Rosenbloom.

MR. ROSENBLOOM [_looks in breast pocket, draws back in astonishment to find the wallet gone._]

MRS. LEZINSKY. In which pocket, Mr. Rosenbloom?

MR. ROSENBLOOM. I keep it always in that breast pocket.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_taking the wallet from an outside pocket_]. Why--here it is, Mr. Rosenbloom.

MR. ROSENBLOOM [_suspiciously_]. From which pocket does it come?

MRS. LEZINSKY [_points_]. Right here, Mr. Rosenbloom.

MR. ROSENBLOOM [_shakes his head_]. I don't see how it got in that pocket.

MRS. LEZINSKY. We didn't touch that coat, Mr. Rosenbloom--except Solly looks when I told him what he should do to it--ain't it, Solly? Otherwise we didn't touch it.

MR. ROSENBLOOM [_opens the wallet_]. Funny! It couldn't walk out of one pocket into another all by itself.

MRS. LEZINSKY. We didn't touch it, Mr. Rosenbloom.

MR. ROSENBLOOM [_begins to count the bills_]. Maybe some customer--

MRS. LEZINSKY. That may be--all kinds of customers, Mr. Rosenbloom--

LEZINSKY [_as Mr. Rosenbloom goes over the money for the second time._] But it hangs here always in our sight. Who has been here, Goldie?

MR. ROSENBLOOM. There's a bill missing here.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_pretending great astonishment_]. Mr. Rosenbloom!

LEZINSKY [_with an accusing note in his tone, meant for her only_]. Gietel?

MRS. LEZINSKY. How should I know? [_To Mr. Rosenbloom._] Maybe you didn't count it right. [_He counts it again._]

MR. ROSENBLOOM. No--it's short--$5.

LEZINSKY [_under his breath, looking strangely at his wife._] Mr. Rosenbloom, however that happens--I make up that $5. Such a thing shouldn't happen in my business. I make it up right away. Gietel!--Gietel--give me the money.

MRS. LEZINSKY [_in a trembling voice_]. I didn't--

LEZINSKY [_checks her_]. I pay you from my own money, Mr. Rosenbloom.... Gietel! [_He puts out his hand for the money._]

MRS. LEZINSKY. All right, Solly.... [_Turns her back to Mr. Rosenbloom and pulls the roll of money from her bosom, thrusting the loose bill back. Solomon, standing over her, sees this bill and puts out his hand for it._]

LEZINSKY [_in a tense undertone_]. All--Gietel--all!

[_Reluctantly she draws the $5 bill from her bosom and, seizing a
moment when Mr. Rosenbloom is recounting his money, she thrusts it
quickly into her husband's hand._]

LEZINSKY [_he crosses to Mr. Rosenbloom and counts out the five dollars from the bills in the roll._] One dollar--two dollars--three dollars--and two is five dollars. [_Hands it to Mr. Rosenbloom._]

MR. ROSENBLOOM [_hesitates_]. You shouldn't be out that $5, Mr. Lezinsky. Anyhow--pay me the difference when you charge for the suit.

LEZINSKY. No, Mr. Rosenbloom--if you take the money now, please.... I couldn't rest--otherwise. In all my life--this--never--happened--before.

MR. ROSENBLOOM [_takes the money_]. Well, if you want it that way, Mr. Lezinsky.... You have the suit ready this evening anyhow?

LEZINSKY. You get the suit this evening, Mr. Rosenbloom. I stop everything else.... And I don't charge you anything for this work, Mr. Rosenbloom.

MR. ROSENBLOOM. Of course, you charge. "Don't charge"! What kind of business is that?

LEZINSKY. I make you a present, Mr. Rosenbloom--for your trouble.

MR. ROSENBLOOM. I pay you for these alterations, all right. [_He goes out._]

LEZINSKY [_searches his wife's face, with ominous calm_]. Gietel! Gietel!

MRS. LEZINSKY. You make presents, eh, Solly? Are you a rabbi or a poor blind tailor--yes?

LEZINSKY [_bursts out_]. She makes a mock at me--this shameless one!

MRS. LEZINSKY. No, no, Solly--

LEZINSKY [_scathingly_]. Gietel!... [_His eyes never leave her face._]

MRS. LEZINSKY [_in a hushed voice_]. Why do you look at me like that, Solly?

LEZINSKY. Blind as I am, I see too much, Gietel.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Listen, Solly--I tell you now--

LEZINSKY [_silences her with a wave of his hand._] What I get I give--[_He takes the five-dollar bill from his pocket, smooths it out and adds it to the roll._] I give my money. I give my eyes ... and this woman--she sells me for a baby-carriage.

MRS. LEZINSKY. No, no, Solly, you shouldn't say such things before you know--

LEZINSKY. Silence, woman! How should I not know? It is here in my hand--the five-dollar bill--here in my hand. I have counted the money. Thirty-seven dollars we had. I have given him back his five and thirty-seven dollars remain. How is that, Gietel? What is the answer to that?... She cheats the customer and she cheats me.... Rather should I take my children by the hand and beg my bread from door to door.

MRS. LEZINSKY. Solly--Solly--I tell you--the baby-carriage--

LEZINSKY. Out of my sight, woman; I forbid you to come into this shop again.

MRS. LEZINSKY. O, Solly _leben_, that couldn't be--

LEZINSKY. The mother of my children--she sins--for a baby-carriage.