The Melting-Pot. Israel Zangwill

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      Oh, I'm not Miss Andrews; I'm only her assistant.

      MENDEL

      I see—Kathleen, whatever are you doing under the table?

      [Kathleen, in her hunting around for the candlestick, is now stooping and lifting up the table-cloth.]

      KATHLEEN

      Sure the fiend's after witching away the candleshtick.

      MENDEL [Embarrassed]

      The candlestick? Oh—I—I think you'll find it in my bedroom.

      KATHLEEN

      Wisha, now!

      [She goes into his bedroom.]

      MENDEL [Turning apologetically to Vera]

      I beg your pardon, Miss Andrews, I mean Miss—er——

      VERA

      Revendal.

      MENDEL [Slightly more interested]

      Revendal? Then you must be the Miss Revendal David told me about!

      VERA [Blushing]

      Why, he has only seen me once—the time he played at our Roof-Garden Concert.

      MENDEL

      Yes, but he was so impressed by the way you handled those new immigrants—the Spirit of the Settlement, he called you.

      VERA [Modestly]

      Ah, no—Miss Andrews is that. And you will tell him to answer her letter at once, won't you, because there's only a week now to our Concert.

      [A gust of wind shakes the windows. She smiles.]

      Naturally it will not be on the Roof Garden.

      MENDEL [Half to himself]

      Fancy David not saying a word about it to me! Are you sure the letter was mailed?

      VERA

      I mailed it myself—a week ago. And even in New York——

      [She smiles. Re-enter Kathleen with the recovered candlestick.]

      KATHLEEN

      Bedad, ye're as great a shleep-walker as Mr. David!

      [She places the candlestick on the table and moves toward her bedroom.]

      MENDEL

      Kathleen!

      KATHLEEN [Pursuing her walk without turning]

      I'm not here!

      MENDEL

      Did you take in a letter for Mr. David about a week ago?

      [Smiling at Miss Revendal]

      He doesn't get many, you see.

      KATHLEEN [Turning]

      A letter? Sure, I took in ounly a postcard from Miss Johnson, an' that ounly sayin'——

      VERA

      And you don't remember a letter—a large letter—last Saturday—with the seal of our Settlement?

      KATHLEEN

      Last Saturday wid a seal, is it? Sure, how could I forgit it?

      MENDEL

      Then you did take it in?

      KATHLEEN

      Ye're wrong entirely. 'Twas the misthress took it in.

      MENDEL [To Vera]

      I am sorry the boy has been so rude.

      KATHLEEN

      But the misthress didn't give it him at wanst—she hid it away bekaz it was Shabbos.

      MENDEL

      Oh, dear—and she has forgotten to give it to him. Excuse me.

      [He makes a hurried exit to the kitchen.]

      KATHLEEN

      And excuse me—I've me thrunk to pack.

      [She goes toward her bedroom, pauses at the door.]

      And ye'll witness I don't pack the candleshtick.

      [Emphatic exit.]

      VERA [Still dazed]

      A Jew! That wonderful boy a Jew! … But then so was David the shepherd youth with his harp and his psalms, the sweet singer in Israel.

      [She surveys the room and its contents with interest. The windows rattle once or twice in the rising wind. The light gets gradually less. She picks up the huge Hebrew tome on the piano and puts it down with a slight smile as if overwhelmed by the weight of alien antiquity. Then she goes over to the desk and picks up the printed music.]

      Mendelssohn's Concerto, Tartini's Sonata in G Minor, Bach's Chaconne …

      [She looks up at the book-rack.]

      "History of the American Commonwealth," "Cyclopædia of History," "History of the Jews"—he seems very fond of history. Ah, there's Shelley and Tennyson.

      [With surprise]

      Nietzsche next to the Bible? No Russian books apparently——

      [Re-enter Mendel triumphantly with a large sealed letter.]

      MENDEL

      Here it is! As it came on Saturday, my mother was afraid David would open it!

      VERA [Smiling]

      But what can you do with a letter except open it? Any more than with an oyster?

      MENDEL [Smiling as he puts the letter on David's desk]

      To a pious Jew letters and oysters are alike forbidden—at least letters may not be opened on our day of rest.

      VERA

      I'm sure I couldn't rest till I'd opened mine.

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