The Melting-Pot (A Tale of Russian Jewish Immigrants). Israel Zangwill
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not remain here.
KATHLEEN [Blazing up, forgetting to take the second candlestick]
And who's axin' ye to remain here? Faith, I'll quit off this blissid minit!
MENDEL [Taken aback]
No, you can't do that.
KATHLEEN
And why can't I? Ye can keep yer dirthy wages.
[She dumps down the candlestick violently on the table, and exit hysterically into her bedroom.]
MENDEL [Sighing heavily]
She might have put on the other candlestick.
[He goes to mantel and takes it. A rat-tat-tat at street-door.]
Who can that be?
[Running to Kathleen's door, holding candlestick forgetfully low.]
Kathleen! There's a visitor!
KATHLEEN [Angrily from within]
I'm not here!
MENDEL
So long as you're in this house, you must do your work.
[Kathleen's head emerges sulkily.]
KATHLEEN
I tould ye I was lavin' at wanst. Let you open the door yerself.
MENDEL
I'm not dressed to receive visitors—it may be a new pupil.
[He goes toward staircase, automatically carrying off the candlestick which Kathleen has not caught sight of. Exit on the left.]
KATHLEEN [Moving toward the street-door]
The divil fly away wid me if ivir from this 'our I set foot again among haythen furriners——
[She throws open the door angrily and then the outer door. Vera Revendal, a beautiful girl in furs and muff, with a touch of the exotic in her appearance, steps into the little vestibule.]
VERA
Is Mr. Quixano at home?
KATHLEEN [Sulkily]
Which Mr. Quixano?
VERA [Surprised]
Are there two Mr. Quixanos?
KATHLEEN [Tartly]
Didn't I say there was?
VERA
Then I want the one who plays.
KATHLEEN
There isn't a one who plays.
VERA
Oh, surely!
KATHLEEN
Ye're wrong entirely. They both plays.
VERA [Smiling]
Oh, dear! And I suppose they both play the violin.
KATHLEEN
Ye're wrong again. One plays the piano—ounly the young ginthleman plays the fiddle—Mr. David!
VERA [Eagerly]
Ah, Mr. David—that's the one I want to see.
KATHLEEN
He's out.
[She abruptly shuts the door.]
VERA [Stopping its closing]
Don't shut the door!
KATHLEEN [Snappily]
More chanst of seeing him out there than in here!
VERA
But I want to leave a message.
KATHLEEN
Then why don't ye come inside? It's freezin' me to the bone.
[She sneezes.]
Atchoo!
VERA
I'm sorry.
[She comes in and closes the door]
Will you please say Miss Revendal called from the Settlement, and we are anxiously awaiting his answer to the letter asking him to play for us on——
KATHLEEN
What way will I be tellin' him all that? I'm not here.
VERA
Eh?
KATHLEEN
I'm lavin'—just as soon as I've me thrunk packed.
VERA
Then I must write the message—can I write at this desk?
KATHLEEN
If the ould woman don't come in and shpy you.
VERA
What old woman?
KATHLEEN
Ould Mr. Quixano's mother—she wears a black wig, she's that houly.
VERA [Bewildered]
What? … But why should she mind my writing?
KATHLEEN
Look at the clock.
[Vera looks at the clock, more puzzled than ever.]
If ye're not quick, it'll be Shabbos.
VERA
Be what?
KATHLEEN [Holds up hands of horror]
Ye don't know what Shabbos is! A Jewess not know her own Sunday!
VERA [Outraged]
I, a Jewess! How dare you?
KATHLEEN [Flustered]
Axin' your pardon, miss, but ye looked a bit furrin and I——
VERA [Frozen]
I am a Russian.
[Slowly and dazedly]
Do I understand that Mr. Quixano is a Jew?
KATHLEEN
Two Jews, miss. Both of 'em.
VERA
Oh, but it is impossible.
[Dazedly to herself]
He had such charming manners.
[Aloud again]
You seem to think everybody Jewish. Are you sure Mr. Quixano is not Spanish?—the name sounds Spanish.
KATHLEEN
Shpanish!
[She picks up the old Hebrew book on the armchair.]
Look at the ould lady's book. Is that Shpanish?
[She points to the Mizrach.]
And that houly picture the ould lady says her pater-noster to! Is that Shpanish? And that houly table-cloth with the houly silver candle——
[Cry of sudden astonishment]
Why, I've ounly put——
[She looks toward mantel and utters a great cry of alarm as she drops the Hebrew book on the floor.]
Why, where's the other candleshtick! Mother in hivin, they'll say I shtole the candleshtick!
[Perceiving