Rabbi relapsed into his moody attitude, and retained it till his wife brought in a big willow-pattern china dish of stewed prunes and pippins. She produced four plates for these, and so Yankelé finished his meal in the unquestionable status of a first-class guest. The Rabbi was by this time sufficiently recovered to toy with two platefuls in a melancholy silence which he did not break till his mouth opened involuntarily to intone the grace. "PRUNES AND PIPPINS." When grace was over he turned to Manasseh and said, "And what was this way you were suggesting to me of getting a profitable Sephardic connection?" "I did, indeed, wonder why you did not extend your practice as consolation preacher among the Spanish Jews,"[99] replied Manasseh gravely. "But after what we have just heard of the death-rate of Jews in Grodno, I should seriously advise you to go back there." [99] "No, they cannot forget that I was once a boy," replied the Rabbi with equal gravity. "I prefer the Spanish Jews. They are all well-to-do. They may not die so often as the Russians, but they die better, so to speak. You will give me introductions, you will speak of me to your illustrious friends, I understand." "You understand!" repeated Manasseh in dignified astonishment. "You do not understand. I shall do no such thing." "But you yourself suggested it!" cried the Rabbi excitedly. "I? Nothing of the kind. I had heard of you and your ministrations to mourners, and meeting you in the street this afternoon for the first time, it struck me to enquire why you did not carry your consolations into the bosom of my community where so much more money is to be made. I said I wondered you had not done so from the first. And you—invited me to dinner. I still wonder. That is all, my good man." He rose to go. The haughty rebuke silenced the Rabbi, though his heart was hot with a vague sense of injury. "Do you come my way, Yankelé?" said Manasseh carelessly. The Rabbi turned hastily to his second guest. "When do you want me to marry you?" he asked.
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