Well, what next? I began currying favor, getting up an acquaintance, trying this and that; I had to lower myself in people's eyes and swallow slights, for every one asked questions, and they had every right to do so. "You, no evil eye, Reb Aaron," say they, "are a householder, and inherited a little something from your father. What good year is taking you about to places where a Jew had better not be seen?" Was I to go and tell them I had a wife (may she live one hundred and twenty years!) with this on the brain: Gymnasiye, Gymnasiye, and Gym-na-si-ye? I (much good may it do you!) am, as you see me, no more unlucky than most people, and with God's help I made my way, and got where I wanted, right up to the nobleman, into his cabinet, yes! And sat down with him there to talk it over. I thank Heaven, I can talk to any nobleman, I don't need to have my tongue loosened for me. "What can I do for you?" he asks, and bids me be seated. Say I, and whisper into his ear, "My lord," say I, "we," say I, "are not rich people, but we have," say I, "a boy, and he wishes to study, and I," say I, "wish it, too, but my wife wishes it very much!" Says he to me again, "What is it you want?" Say I to him, and edge a bit closer, "My dear lord," say I, "we," say I, "are not rich people, but we have," say I, "a small fortune, and one remarkably clever boy, who," say I, "wishes to study; and I," say I, "also wish it, but my wife wishes it _very much_!" and I squeeze that "very much" so that he may understand. But he's a Gentile and slow-witted, and he doesn't twig, and this time he asks angrily, "Then, whatever is it you want?!" I quietly put my hand into my pocket and quietly take it out again, and I say quietly: "Pardon me, we," say I, "are not rich people, but we have a little," say I, "fortune, and one remarkably clever boy, who," say I, "wishes to study; and I," say I, "wish it also, but my wife," say I, "wishes it very much indeed!" and I take and press into his hand----and this time, yes! he understood, and went and got a note-book, and asked my name and my son's name, and which class I wanted him entered for. "Oho, lies the wind that way?" think I to myself, and I give him to understand that I am called Katz, Aaron Katz, and my son, Moisheh, Moshke we call him, and I want to get him into the third class. Says he to me, if I am Katz, and my son is Moisheh, Moshke we call him, and he wants to get into class three, I am to bring him in January, and he will certainly be passed. You hear and understand? Quite another thing! Apparently the horse trots as we shoe him. The worst is having to wait. But what is to be done? When they say, Wait! one waits. A Jew is used to waiting.