“Dot's just the way with all the young fellers, now-a-days,” Mr. Blum exclaimed. “They don't none of them want to get married. It's simply fearful; hey, Dr. Gedaza? When me and you was young men, we'd be ashamed to be single at his age, hey? Why, a man ain't a goot Jew, if he don't get married. Might just as well be an American right out. If I was you, Elias Bacharach, I'd be afraid. The Lord will punish you. You better get married, or look out.” “Yes, that's so.” “There ain't any doubt about that.” “A young fellow ought to get married, and no mistake.” Remarks such as these went up from all directions; and poor Elias felt like the most miserable of sinners. Tillie came to his rescue. “Oh, let Mr. Bacharach alone,” she cried. “He ain't dead yet. Give him time.” Then, turning to the victim, “Don't you mind them. They've got marriage on the brain.--How are you going to spend this summer? In the country?” “Well I haven't made any plans yet,” he answered; “have you?” “Oh, yes--we're going to the Catskills--Tannerstown--all of us. Ever been there? It's perfectly ideal--the grandest place I ever did see. And such a lot of nice people! I must know a hundred at the very least, who are going there this season--Advance Club people--friends of my uncle Wash. You said you didn't belong to the Advance. Why don't you join? If I were a man, wouldn't I, though! They give the most elegant balls that you can possibly imagine. Mamma and I go to all of them. Mamma took the prize at the last.” “Prize for what?” asked Elias. “Why, don't you know? They give a prize for the most original costume; generally a book, or a work of art. Mamma's was a magnificent picture album, with hinges and clasps of hammered silver--solid, not plated. The ladies all go in costume, and each one tries to wear the most curious and surprising. Well, for instance, one lady represented a match. She had a dress just perfectly covered with burned matches, and matches in her hair, and for ear-rings, and every thing. Then, another lady, she went as a pack of cards; and her dress was just one mass of patch-work, and each patch was a card. And then mamma--Well, guess. What do you suppose mamma represented?” “I give it up.” “Well, it was simply the grandest idea you can possibly imagine. It took the whole room by storm. Gracious me, how they did laugh and applaud! She went as a fireman.” “A--what? M gasped Elias.