The bearded man gazed on beyond him. His head moved dreaming. His hands floated underneath his beard. “You were right in what you said to yourself,” he spoke. “For I am John the Baptist.” [11] Copyright, 1922, by The Dial Publishing Company, Inc. Copyright, 1922, by Waldo Frank. MENDEL MARANTZ-- HOUSEWIFE[12] By DAVID FREEDMAN (From _The Pictorial Review_) “What is a landlord? A bore! He asks you one question all the time--Rent! What is rent? A fine you pay for being poor. What is poverty? Dirt--on the surface. What is riches? More dirt--under the surface. Everybody wants money. Money! What is money? A disease we like to catch but not to spread. Just wait, Zelde! The time will come! I’ll be a landlord on Riverside Drive! We’ll have our own home----” “In the cemetery!” Zelde said bitterly. “Not so fast,” Mendel replied, sipping his tea. “Cheer up, Zelde! What is pessimism? A match. It burns the fingers. What is hope? A candle. It lights the way. You never can tell yet! What is life? A see-saw. Today you’re poor and tomorrow----” “You starve!” Zelde muttered, as she rubbed a shirt vigorously against the wash-board. With a sudden impulse she slapped the shirt into the tub, dried her hands on the apron, and, resting her fists on her hips, turned to Mendel. “Why shouldn’t I be mad?” she began, replying to a previous question. “Here I stand like a fool scrubbing my life away, from morning till night-time, working like a horse, cooking, washing, sewing, cleaning and everything. And for what? For this I eloped with you from a rich father? Did you marry me--or hire me?” “I stole you. Now I got to pay the penalty. What is love? A conquest. What is marriage? An inquest. Don’t worry; your father was no fool. He made believe he didn’t see us run away. We felt romantic--and he got off cheap! What is romance? Soap-bubbles. They look nice, but taste rotten.” “Never mind! Mister Mendel Marantz, I know you too good. You talk a lot to make me forget what I was saying. But this whole business must come to a finish right here and there! “You talked into yourself you’re a great man, so you don’t want to work and you don’t want to listen. Sarah sweats in the factory, Hymie peddles papers, Nathan works by the telegrams. And what do you do? You sit like a king and drink tea and make jokes--and nothing! I betcha you’re waiting Jakie, Lena and Sammy should grow up so you’ll send them to work for you too!” Mendel shrugged his shoulders. “What’s a woman’s tongue? A little dog’s tail. It wags too much!” “I know what I talk. You hate work like poison. You like better to smoke a cigaret and close your eyes and invent schemes how to get rich quick. But you’ll get crazy quicker!”