The handwriting on the wall was unnecessarily large. Mendel Marantz knew that his crisis was at hand. Zelde spoke. “That settles it. Either tomorrow you go to work or go altogether! Yessir! You, I mean, mister!” Mendel had faced crises before. Some he had overcome with a jest, others with a promise, still others with a pretence at work until the novelty wore off. But there was a grimness in Zelde’s manner this time that looked fatal. Nothing but a permanent job and lifelong drudgery could save him now. But that would also destroy him. Tying him down to a position was like hitching a lion to a cart. His mind could not travel on tracks. It was too restive and spirited. He could never repeat an act without discovering how much easier it might be done by machinery, and immediately he set himself to invent the necessary machine. That was why he could not be a tailor. After he once threaded a needle, he started to devise a simple instrument for doing it, and in the meantime lost his job. And that happened in every case. His head was so full of ideas that he often had to stand still to keep his balance. His mind sapped all of his powers and left him powerless for work. In order to work he would have to stop thinking. He might just as well stop living. Idleness was as essential a part of his make-up as industry was of Zelde’s. “I wasn’t made for work,” he said with finality. “I mean--for just plain work. Some people work with their feet, others with their hands. I work with my head. You don’t expect I shall sit like Simon, the shoemaker, every day, and hit nails till I get consumption. One--two--three, I invent a machinery which hits nails, cuts leather, fits heels, makes patches, and I sit down and laugh on the world. I can’t work like others, just as others can’t work like me!” “You can make me believe night is day and black is white, but it won’t help you. It’s a new rule in this house from today on--those who work, eat; those who don’t, don’t. If you think you can invent food, go ahead. So long I live my children is not going to starve. From today on I’m the father from this family. If you don’t want to go to work--I will!” Mendel was skeptical. “What is a woman?” he thought. “A lot of thunder, but a little rain.” Still, the shower was more drenching than he supposed. “Tomorrow morning I go back to be a dressmaker by fancy dresses. Sarah, you come with me. I learn you a real trade.” Then she turned to Mendel with a sneer. “You thought I play around in the house, didn’t you? All right! Now you stay home and play like I did. You want to eat? Cook, yourself. You think in the house it’s easy? You’ll find out different. Send the children to school, go up on the roof to hang clothes, run down with the garbage five floors, buy groceries, wash underwear, mend stockings, press shirts, scrub floors--go on! Have a good time, and I’ll pay the bills!”