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on Bessie in the middle. But somehow, by the two of us pulling it together she could squeeze her arms through the tight sleeves.

      “Hook it only faster,” she begged.

      I tried to push together the hooks, but they were too far apart.

      “It’ll choke you to wear it,” I said, worn out from pulling. “Can’t you see it ain’t big enough?”

      “It’s got to be big enough.” And Bessie stood up on her toes and blew out all her breath, and she squeezed herself with her hands till I could pull together the hooks one at a time. But it was so tight, where every hook was came a wrinkle. It made her shape stick out so funny that I begged her: “Better put back on your old skirt and waist that you wear to the shop, because in this tight dress it sticks out so your fatness.”

      “But every day he sees me in the shop, in that same old skirt and waist. I want him to see me in something different. I want to brighten myself up to him.”

      “But it don’t brighten you like Mashah because Mashah got red cheeks and——”

      Bessie pushed me aside, and ran over to Mashah’s looking-glass, and began fixing her hair. But she was so nervous and excited the comb fell out from her hand. And when she bent down to pick it up—crack! burst open the seam on the side of the pink dress!

      Just then there was a knocking on the door. And Bessie ran into the bedroom to pin together the ripped seam.

      When the knocking came again, I opened the door. There was a man. He had a starched shirt on, with a white starched collar on his neck, and a gold chain across his checked vest.

      “Is Bessie Smolinsky here?” he asked.

      “Right away she’ll come!” I said. And I showed him to Father’s chair with a cushion to sit on.

      Then Bessie came out, her eyes burning out of her head, her cheeks redder than Mashah’s, and her right arm held to the side, like pasted there, to cover up where she pinned herself together.

      She shook hands with the man from only her elbow. But the man didn’t notice anything, he looked as mixed-up and excited as Bessie herself.

      First I went to the bedroom, so they could talk to themselves. And I was thinking to put on my shawl and go out in the street. Then I remembered that Bessie was like lame, with her arm pasted to her side to cover up the rip in her pink dress. And I began looking around, all over the house, to find where Mother hid away the jelly for the company.

      While I was yet looking for the jelly, Father came in. His face lighted up with gladness to see the company. And the young man got up from his chair and shook hands with Father. Bessie was so excited, she stood there red in her face and moving her lips like a yok, unable to open her mouth and let out a word how to make the introduction.

      “Nu, Bessie?” asked Father. “What’s this man’s name? Who is he?”

      “Berel Bernstein,” came out the words from her choked neck. “He is the cutter from our shop.”

      Father shook hands with him again. “Berel Bernstein, from where do you come?”

      “My village was seven miles from Grodno,” said Berel Bernstein.

      “Is your father also in America?”

      “No, he’s in Russia yet.”

      “How long are you here?”

      “Ten years already.”

      “Do you still pray every morning?”

      The man got red and looked down on the floor.

      “Sometimes, when I get up early enough, I pray. But I keep all the holidays.”

      “How much wages do you earn?”

      “Eighteen dollars a week.” And he stuck out his chest a little from his bashfulness.

      “How much do you save each week from your eighteen dollars?” questioned more Father.

      “Sometimes, six, sometimes seven dollars,” said Berel Bernstein.

      “What! On yourself only, you spend eleven twelve dollars!” Father looked him over from his patent-leather shoes to the gold horseshoe pin shining on his red necktie. “A whole family could live already on what you spend on your one self.”

      Berel Bernstein got red as fire. “I got to eat my meals in the restaurant where it costs you twice so much as it would cost home. I think like you say, a married man could live cheaper as a single one. If a man could only have a wife to cook for him and wash for him. That’s why——” He stopped and couldn’t go on what he had to say.

      Father gave a quick, sharp look on the man, and then his eyes went on Bessie, like she had brought a thief in the house. But he didn’t say anything. And it got so still in the house, everybody looking away from each other, that I brought in the tea and jelly.

      As soon as they began drinking the tea, Father loosened up his hard look and began again his questions. “You got something already in the bank?”

      “Sure, I got money saved. For years already I lived for a purpose. I know inside the whole clothing trade. I was working already as a baster, a presser, and an operator. And now I’m already the head cutter. And I’m thinking to start myself a shop.”

      “So you’ll be a manufacturer yet, in America,” said Father. “Have more jelly in your tea. And how soon will you open yourself up your factory?”

      “First I’m thinking to get myself married.”

      “That’s good sense. A business man needs himself a wife. She could run him the home cheaper, and maybe help him yet in business, if she’s got a head.”

      “That’s just what I’m looking for,” said Berel Bernstein. “I like a plain home girl that knows how to help save the dollar, and cook a good meal, and help me yet in the shop. And I think . . . your daughter Bessie is just fitting for me.”

      Father pushed back his glass of tea, and stood up, looking on the man. “Daughters like mine are not found in the gutter.”

      “Sure! Don’t I see Bessie in the shop, every day how she knows more about the work as the fore-lady? I could get plenty girls with money. But I want to take your daughter, like she is, without a dowry.”

      “Why don’t you ask me first what I want?” cried Father. “Don’t forget when she gets married, who’ll carry me the burden from this house? She earns me the biggest wages. With Bessie I can be independent. I don’t have to grab the first man that wants her. I can wait yet a few years.”

      “You can wait! But your daughter is getting older each year, not younger. Do you want her to wait till her braids grow gray?”

      “Look at Weinberg’s daughter!” said Father. “She is thirty years already, and she’s still working for her father. Has a father no rights in America? Didn’t I bring my children into the world? Shouldn’t they at least support their old father when he’s getting older? Why should children think only of themselves? Here I give up my whole life, working day and night, to spread the light of the Holy Torah. Don’t my children owe me at least a living?”

      “But Bessie must get married some time. And you can’t get such chances like me every day.”

      “Don’t forget it that you’re only a man of the earth. I’m a man of God. Wouldn’t Bessie get a higher place in Heaven supporting me than if she married and worked for you?”

      “The cheek, from a beggar who dreams himself God!” Berel’s voice grew loud, like a fish-peddler’s. “I’m a plain ‘man of the earth.’ You can’t put none of your Heaven over on me.”

      “But I ask you only, by your conscience, what should I do without her wages? The other children don’t earn much. And they need more than they earn. They’d spend every cent on themselves if I’d only

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