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Upon a platform in a corner between two violins, sat Arnud before his cymbal, resplendent in frilled shirt and embroidered vest, thundering on his instrument the favourite songs of the dancers, shouting now and then in unison with the melody that pattered out in metallic rain from the instrument before him.
"Not he," replied Simon. "He never gets drunk where there is a chance to gather a dollar." "But the feast is free?" "Yes, the feast is free, but there is always money going. There is betting and there is the music for the dancing, which is Rosenblatt's. He has hired Arnud and his cymbal and the violins, and the dancers must pay." "Aha, very clever," replied the stranger.
Dat Arnud he's come from de old country, an' he's de whole show, de whole brass band on de park." To Anka it seemed an unnecessary and foolish sacrifice to the demands of decency that she should forego the joy of a real czardas to the music of Arnud accompanying the usual violins. "Ye can have it," sniffed Mrs.
"I'm just affronted at ye, Anka," she complained, "that ye can step inside the woman's dure." "Ah, cut it out!" cried Anka, rejoicing in her command of the vernacular. "Sure, Paulina is no good, you bet; but see, look at her house dere is no Rutenian house like dat, so beeg. Ah!" she continued rapturously, "you come an' see me and Jacob dance de 'czardas, wit Arnud on de cymbal.
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