He shook his head. With a witheringly dignified grimace he
then pointed his club in the direction of Broadway and strutted off
majestically
"He's not better than a Cossack, either," was my verdict
At this moment a voice hailed us in Yiddish. Facing about, we
beheld a middle-aged man with huge, round, perpendicular
nostrils and a huge, round, deep dimple in his chin that looked
like a third nostril. Prosperity was written all over his
smooth-shaven face and broad-shouldered, stocky figure.
He was literally aglow with diamonds and self-satisfaction. But he
was unmistakably one of our people. It was like coming across a
human being in the jungle. Moreover, his very diamonds
somehow told a tale of former want, of a time when he had
landed, an impecunious immigrant like myself; and this made him
a living source of encouragement to me
"God Himself has sent you to us," I began, acting as the
spokesman; but he gave no heed to me. His eyes were eagerly
fixed on Gitelson and his tatters
"You're a tailor, aren't you?" he questioned him
My steerage companion nodded.
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