“Mr. Miner,” he said, “I reckon you’ll have to find yore way back to town the bes’ way you kin. They’s fo’ sep’rit things de matter wid dis yere cyar—an’ I dunno whut nary one of ’em is.” § 304 A Well-Merited Rebuke “Vaiter, vaiter, here vaiter—gif me some addension, uf you blease!” The gentleman rapped with impatient knuckles on the table top. At his call, a servitor came hurrying to his side. The scene was a Yiddish restaurant in Grand Street on New York’s East Side. The hour was the luncheon hour. The speaker was a heavily bearded person who had just made his entrance. All about him conveyed the idea that here was a business man in a rush. “Vaiter,” he said, “you should right avay bring me a knife und a fork und a napkin und a blate; ulso ein glass water. Und make it snappy!” The waiter, somewhat puzzled, produced the articles called for, then stood by awaiting the order. To his surprise the patron waved him back and then before his astounded eyes drew from one coat-pocket a knuckle of rye bread and from the other a pickled herring and proceeded to make a light but satisfying meal. Ablaze with indignation the waiter spun on his heel and dashed away to find the proprietor. “See that guy yonder?” he said, pointing toward the bewhiskered one. “Well, of all the scalded nerve ever I seen in my life—say, you know what that guy done, boss? He come in here a minute ago and made me fetch him a set of feedin’ tools and then, be gee, he hauled out his own chow and started eatin’. Ain’t you goin’ to give him a call-down?” “I certainly am,” stated the owner. He ranged up alongside the offender. “Say,” he demanded with terrific sarcasm, “wot kind of a place do you think I’m runnin’ here, anyway?” The stranger looked up from his repast: “Vell,” he said calmly, “since you ask me, I got to dell you—der service here iss rotten! Ulso, for why ain’t der orchestra playing?” § 305 For Business, Not Pleasure The newly organized Ku Klux Klan, having had its first parade, was now in session behind locked doors for the purpose of conferring the secret work upon a batch of new members. A stranger tried to shove his way into the hall. The keeper of the outer portals shooed him away. Presently the persistent intruder returned. “Say, look here,” said the warden, “you don’t belong in here.” He took a closer look at the stranger. “I’m sure of it. Ain’t you Jewish?” “Shure, I’m Jewish,” answered the other, with an ingratiating smile. “Well, don’t you know the Ku Klux Klan don’t let no Jews join it?” “I don’t vant to join.” “Well, what do you want then?” “I vant to see the feller vot buys the bed-sheetings.” § 306 Let There Be Light! A young negress visited a dentist of her own race late one afternoon to have an aching molar removed. “Does you want gas?” inquired the dentist.