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Then he went to bed. After that, Esther put her grandmother to bed and curled herself up at her side. Pesach's fiddle played the accompaniment to many other people's thoughts. The respectable master-tailor sat behind his glazed shirt-front beating time with his foot. His little sickly-looking wife stood by his side, nodding her bewigged head joyously.
I don't think he knows the soup kitchen opens to-night. Let me, mother." And Fanny, letting Pesach's hand go, slipped out to the room that served as a kitchen, and bore the still-steaming pot upstairs. Pesach, who had pursued her, followed with some hunks of bread and a piece of lighted candle, which, while intended only to illumine the journey, came in handy at the terminus.
"'Ow would you like to pay for Pesach's new coat? It just dripped past his shoulder." "I'm so sorry, Becky," said Esther, striving hard to master the tremor in her voice. And drawing a house-cloth from a mysterious recess, she went on her knees in a practical prayer for pardon. Becky snorted and went back to her sister's engagement-party.
He had long since discovered his mistake, but the drift of the discussion reminded Becky of a chance for an arrow. "On the day when you sit for joy, Pesach," she said slily. "I shall send you a valentine." Pesach colored up and those in the secret laughed; the reference was to another of Pesach's early ideas.
"Ah, that was good," he murmured. "Not like thy English drinks, eh?" said Mr. Belcovitch. "England!" snorted Pesach in royal disdain. "What a country! Daddle-doo is a language and ginger-beer a liquor." "Daddle doo" was Pesach's way of saying "That'll do." It was one of the first English idioms he picked up, and its puerility made him facetious.
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