Reb Yankele was more than surprised at the unexpected apparition of Yerachmiel the _Shlemihl_, who had never in all his life been rich enough to be a guest at the _Kretchm_, although he had been glad to get an occasional meal or drink there in return for odd jobs, boldly entering his establishment as the companion of a manifestly prosperous _Deitch_. He stepped forward with an obsequious bow and a deferential “What do the gentlemen wish?” “The best your house has of food and drink,” answered Shmulke, “and be quick about it. A rouble or two more or less makes no difference.” Thus encouraged the innkeeper performed his task with alacrity; and in a few minutes Shmulke and Yerachmiel were sitting down before a very fair meal, consisting of beet soup, roast chicken, boiled potatoes, black bread, onions sliced in vinegar, and a large bottle of _vodka_. Yerachmiel almost imagined himself in _Gan Eden_, and was convinced that if dreams were not prophetic, they were certainly closely akin to prophecy. The roast chicken, if not equal in quality to the dream goose, was not much inferior; and the _vodka_, while undoubtedly not as good as the wine which is stored up for the righteous since creation’s dawn, was yet abundantly satisfying to a poor sinner in the cheerless present. Shmulke watched Yerachmiel’s enjoyment of the meal with a quiet smile of satisfaction, and said to him: “What is the best way to provide you with a permanent _parnoso_?” Yerachmiel did not exactly know. He suggested half a dozen different sorts of business, from banker to butcher, but was most inclined to favor the occupation of innkeeper, of whose delights he had just had emphatic demonstration. Shmulke rejected all these propositions with scorn. “To tell you the truth,” he said, “I don’t believe you could succeed at anything in Russia. You are too much of a _Shlemihl_, and you could never get along without some one to look after you. What do you say to going with me to America? I would set you up in business and help you along with my advice.”