"Cut off
his side-locks while you are at it. One may go without them and
yet be a good Jew."
He disappeared again, but when I emerged from the bathroom I
found him waiting for me. I stood before him, necktie and collar
in hand, not knowing what to do with them, till he showed me
how to put them on
"Don't worry. David," he consoled me. "When I came here I, too,
had to learn these things." When he was through with the job he
took me in front of a looking-glass. "Quite an American, isn't he?"
he said to the barber, beamingly. "And a good-looking fellow,
too."
When I took a look at the mirror I was bewildered. I scarcely
recognized myself
I was mentally parading my "modern" make-up before Matilda. A
pang of yearning clutched my heart. It was a momentary feeling.
For the rest, I was all in a flutter with embarrassment and a novel
relish of existence. It was as though the hair-cut and the American
clothes had changed my identity. The steamer, Gitelson, and the
man who had snatched him up now appeared to be something of
the remote past.
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