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Shadchen was a conspiracy name for a man who would bring an employer together with cloak-makers who were willing to cheat the union. The one who performed these services for me was one of my own "hands." He was thoroughly dishonest, but he possessed a gentle disposition and a certain gift of expression. This gave him power over his shopmates.
Later they say he was responsible for more happy marriages contracted by people who did not know that he was responsible for them than a popular east-side shadchen. He grew a little tired, perhaps, of playing with make-believe stage characters, and directing them, so he began to play with real ones, like God. But always kind.
The ardor with which I spoke and the details of my dealings with the shadchen must have made my explanation convincing, for she accepted it at once "You're not fooling me, are you?" she asked, piteously, yet in a tone of immense relief. "Strike me dumb if " "'S-sh! Don't curse yourself," she said, clapping her hand over my mouth. "I can't bear to hear it. I believe you.
Put it away somewhere. If you wear it for one minute every week I shall be happy. If you only look at it once in a while I shall be happy." "I am afraid to keep it. Somebody may come across it some day. Better return it, my loved one! I am happy as it is. It would make me nervous to have it in the house." She made me take it back "Thank God it wasn't a real shadchen!
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