"But my school's open," said Levi enviously, and Solomon lost the feeling of inferiority, and felt avenged.
"Come, then, Solomon," said his father, who had reached the door. The two converted part of the half-crown into French loaves and carried them home to form an unexpected breakfast.
Meantime Reb Shemuel, whose full name was the Reverend Samuel Jacobs, also proceeded to breakfast. His house lay near the _Shool_, and was approached by an avenue of mendicants. He arrived in his shirt-sleeves.
"Quick, Simcha, give me my new coat. It is very cold this morning."
"You've given away your coat again!" shrieked his wife, who, though her name meant "Rejoicing," was more often upbraiding.
"Yes, it was only an old one, Simcha," said the Rabbi deprecatingly. He took off his high hat and replaced it by a little black cap which he carried in his tail pocket.
"You'll ruin me, Shemuel!" moaned Simcha, wringing her hands. "You'd give away the shirt off your skin to a pack of good-for-nothing _Schnorrers_."
"Yes, if they had only their skin in the world. Why not?" said the old Rabbi, a pacific gleam in his large gazelle-like eyes. "Perhaps my coat may have the honor to cover Elijah the prophet."
"Elijah the prophet!" snorted Simcha. "Elijah has sense enough to stay in heaven and not go wandering about shivering in the fog and frost of this God-accursed country."
"For thy salvation do I hope, O Lord," murmured Simcha piously in Hebrew, adding excitedly in English, "Ah, you'll kill yourself, Shemuel." She rushed upstairs and returned with another coat and a new terror.
"Here, you fool, you've been and done a fine thing this time! All your silver was in the coat you've given away!"
"Was it?" said Reb Shemuel, startled. Then the tranquil look returned to his brown eyes. "No, I took it all out before I gave away the coat."
"God be thanked!" said Simcha fervently in Yiddish. "Where is it? I want a few shillings for grocery."
Simcha groaned and fell into her chair with a crash that rattled the tray and shook the cups.
"Here's the end of the week coming," she sobbed, "and I shall have no fish for _Shabbos_."
"Do not blaspheme!" said Reb Shemuel, tugging a little angrily at his venerable beard. "The Holy One, blessed be He, will provide for our _Shabbos_"