tering skirts of a half-kaftan.—"Ah! Mardokhai, Mardokhai!" exclaimed the Jews with one voice. A gaunt Jew, somewhat shorter than Yankel, but even more wrinkled, and with a huge upper lip, approached the impatient group; and all the Jews made haste, even interrupting one another, to talk to him. During the recital, Mardokhai cast several glances towards the little window, and Taras divined that the conversation concerned him.
Mardokhai waved his hands, listened, interrupted, spat frequently to one side, and, pulling up the skirts of his half-kaftan, thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out some jingling object, showing his very dirty trousers in the operation. Finally, all the Jews set up such a shout, that the Jew who was standing on guard was forced to make a signal for silence, and Taras began to fear for his own safety; but when he remembered that Jews cannot consult anywhere except in the street, and that the demon himself cannot understand their language, he regained his composure.
Two minutes later the Jews all entered the room together. Mardokhai approached Taras, tapped him on the shoulder, and said: "When we wish to act, then things will be as they should." Taras looked at this Solomon such as the world had never known, and conceived some hope: in fact, his face might well inspire some confidence: his upper lip
