There will be no wriggling
out of it. My wife has set her mind on it."
"Your wife?" I asked in surprise.
"Yes. I have an order to bring you up to the house, and that's all
there is to it. Don't blame her, though. The fault is mine. I have
told her so much about you she wants to know you."
"To know me and to marry me off, hey? And yet you claim to be a
friend of mine."
"Well, it's no use talking. You'll have to come."
I received a formal invitation, written in English by Mrs.
Nodelman, and on a Friday night in May I was in my friend's
house for supper, as Nodelman called it, or "dinner," as his wife
would have it
The family occupied one of a small group of lingering,
brownstone, private dwellings in a neighborhood swarming with
the inmates of new tenement "barracks."
"Glad to meechye," Mrs. Nodelman welcomed me. "Meyer should
have broughchye up long ago. Why did you keep Mr. Levinsky
away, Meyer? Was you afraid you might have reason to be
jealous?"
"That's just it. She hit it right. I told you she was a smart girl, didn't
I, Levinsky?"
"Don't be uneasy, Meyer.
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