ngry with Yossel--all the fault
is mine. He did not ask me to go with him to Palestine; it was I that
asked _him_.'

'Do you mean that you asked him to marry you?'

'It is the same thing. There is no other way. How different would it
have been had there been any other woman here who wanted to die in
Palestine! But the women nowadays have no fear of Heaven; they wear
their hair unshorn--they----'

'Yes, yes. So you asked Yossel to marry you.'

'Asked? Prayed, as one prays upon Atonement Day. For two years I
prayed to him, but he always refused.'

'Then why----?' began the artist.

'Yossel is so proud. It is his only sin.'

'Oh, Yenta!' protested Yossel flushing, 'I am a very sinful man.'

'Yes, but your sin is all in a lump,' the _Bube_ replied. 'Your
iniquity is like your ugliness--some people have it scattered all
over, but you have it all heaped up. And the heap is called pride.'

'Never mind his pride,' put in the artist impatiently. 'Why did he not
go on refusing you?'

'I am coming to that. Only you were always so impatient, Vroomkely.
When I was cutting you a piece of _Kuchen_, you would snatch greedily
at the crumbs as they fell. You see Yossel is not made of the same
clay as you and I. By an oversight the Almighty sent an angel into the
world instead of a man, but seeing His mistake at the last moment, the
All-High broke his wings short and left him a hunchback. But when
Yossel's father made a match for him with Leah, the rich
corn-factor's daughter, the silly girl, when she was introduced to the
bridegroom, could see only the hump, and scandalously refused to carry
out the contract. And Yossel is so proud that ever since that day he
curled himself up into his hump, and nursed a hatred for all women.'

'How can you say that, Yenta?' Yossel broke in again.

'Why else did you refuse my money?' the _Bube_ retorted. 'Twice, ten,
twenty times I asked him to go to Palestine with me. But obstinate as
a pig he keeps grunting "I can't--I've got no money." Sooner than I
should pay his fare he'd have seen us both die here.'

The artist collapsed upon the bundle; astonishment, anger, and
self-ridicule made an emotion too strong to stand under. So this was
all his Machiavellian scheming had achieved--to bring about the very
marriage it was meant to avert! He had dug a pit and fallen into it
himself. All this would indeed amuse Rozenoffski and Leopold Barstein.
He laughed bitterly.

'Nay, it was no laughing