On the Wednesday in question Jake and his shopmates had warded off a reduction of wages by threatening a strike, and were accordingly in high feather. And so Jake and Bernstein came home in unusually good spirits. Little Joey--for such was Yosselé's name now--with whom his father's plays were for the most part of an athletic character, welcomed Jake by a challenge for a pugilistic encounter, and the way he said "Coom a fight!" and held out his little fists so delighted Mr. Podkovnik, Sr., that upon ordering Gitl to serve supper he vouchsafed a fillip on the tip of her nose. While she was hurriedly setting the table, Jake took to describing to Charley his employer's defeat. "You should have seen how he looked, the cockroach!" he said. "He became as pale as the wall and his teeth were chattering as if he had been shaken up with fever, _'pon my void_. And how quiet he became all of a sudden, as if he could not count two! One might apply him to an ulcer, so soft was he--ha-ha-ha!" he laughed, looking to Bernstein, who smiled assent. At last supper was announced. Bernstein donned his hat, and did not sit down to the repast before he had performed his ablutions and whispered a short prayer. As he did so Jake and Charley interchanged a wink. As to themselves, they dispensed with all devotional preliminaries, and took their seats with uncovered heads. Gitl also washed her fingers and said the prayer, and as she handed Yosselé his first slice of bread she did not release it before he had recited the benediction. Bernstein, who, as a rule, looked daggers at his meal, this time received his plate of _borshtch_[13]--his favourite dish--with a radiant face; and as he ate he pronounced it a masterpiece, and lavished compliments on the artist. [13] A sour soup of cabbage and beets. "It's a long time since I tasted such a borshtch! Simply a vivifier! It melts in every limb!" he kept rhapsodizing, between mouthfuls. "It ought to be sent to the Chicago Exposition. The _missess_ would get a medal." "A _regely_ European borshtch!" Charley chimed in. "It is worth ten cents a spoonful, _'pon mine vort_!" "Go away! You are only making fun of me," Gitl declared, beaming with pride. "What is there to be laughing at? I make it as well as I can," she added demurely. "Let him who is laughing laugh with teeth," jested Charlie. "I tell you it is a----" The remainder of the sentence was submerged in a mouthful of the vivifying semi-liquid. "_Alla right!_" Jake bethought himself. "_Charge_ him ten _shent_ for each spoonful. Mr. Bernstein, you shall be kind enough to be the _bookkeeper_. But if you don't pay, Chollie, I'll get out a _tzommesh_ [summons] from _court_."