Hulda's eyes flashed. "Yes, it is a sign--the Brotherhood of the Peoples! The Jew will be the peace-messenger of the world." The Red Beadle ate on sceptically. He had studied _The Brotherhood of the Peoples_ to the great improvement of his Hebrew but with little edification. He had even studied it in Hulda's original manuscript, which he had borrowed and never intended to return. But still he could not share his friends' belief in the perfectibility of mankind. Perhaps if they had known how he had tippled away his savings after his wife's death, they might have thought less well of humanity and its potentialities of perfection. After all, Huldas were too rare to make the world sober, much less fraternal. And, charming as they were, honesty demanded one should not curry favor with them by fostering their delusions. "What put such an idea into your head, Zussmann!" he cried unsympathetically. Zussmann answered naïvely, as if to a question-- "I have had the idea from a boy. I remember sitting stocking-footed on the floor of the synagogue in Poland on the Fast of Ab, wondering why we should weep so over the destruction of Jerusalem, which scattered us among the nations as fertilizing seeds. How else should the mission of Israel be fulfilled? I remember"--and here he smiled pensively--"I was awakened from my day-dream by a _Patsch_ (smack) in the face from my poor old father, who was angry because I wasn't saying the prayers." "There will be always somebody to give you that _Patsch_," said the Red Beadle gloomily. "But in what way is Israel dispersed? It seems to me our life is everywhere as hidden from the nations as if we were all together in Palestine." "You touch a great truth! Oh, if I could only write in English! But though I read it almost as easily as the German, I can write it as little. You know how one has to learn German in Poland--by stealth--the Christians jealous on one hand, the Jews suspicious on the other. I could not risk the Christians laughing at my bad German--that would hurt my Idea. And English is a language like the Vale of Siddim--full of pits." "We ought to have it translated," said Hulda. "Not only for the Christians, but for the rich Jews, who are more liberal-minded than those who live in our quarter." "But we cannot afford to pay for the translating now," said Zussmann. "Nonsense; one has always a jewel left," said Hulda. Zussmann's eyes grew wet. "Yes," he said, drawing her to his breast, "one has always a jewel left." "More _meshuggas!_" cried the Red Beadle huskily. "Much the English Jews care about ideas! Did they even acknowledge your book in their journals? But probably they couldn't read it," he added with a laugh. "A fat lot of Hebrew little Sampson knows! You know little Sampson--he came to report the boot-strike for _The Flag of Judah_. I got into conversation with him--a rank pork-gorger. He believes with me that Nature makes herself." But Zussmann was scarcely eating, much less listening.