Yekl; A Tale of the New York Ghetto

Excerpt: ...passed with noiseless step into the boarders' room. The door was ajar and she entered it without knocking, as was her wont. She found Bernstein bent over a book, with a ponderous dictionary by its side. A kerosene lamp with a red shade, occupying nearly all the remaining space on the table, spread a lurid mysterious light. Gitl asked the studious cloakmaker whether he knew a Polish girl named Mamie Fein. Mamie Fein? No. Why? said Bernstein, with his index finger on the passage he had been reading, and his eyes on Gitl's plumpish cheek, bathed in the roseate light. Nothing. May not one ask? What is the matter? Speak out! Are you afraid to tell me? he insisted. What should be the matter? She was here. A nice lada. Your husband knows many nice ladies, he said, with a faint but significant smile. And immediately regretting the remark he went on to smooth it down by characterizing Jake as an honest and good-natured fellow. You ought to think yourself fortunate in having him for your husband, he added. Yes, but what did you mean by what you said first? she demanded, with an anxious air. What did I mean? What should I have meant? I meant what I said. 'F cou'se he knows many girls. But who does not? You know there are always girls in the shops where we work. Never fear, Jake has nothing to do with them. Who says I fear! Did I say I did? Why should I? Encouraged by the cheering effect which his words were obviously having on the credulous, unsophisticated woman, he pursued: May no Jewish daughter have a worse husband. Be easy, be easy. I tell you he is melting away for you. He never looked as happy as he does since you came. Go away! You must be making fun of me! she said, beaming with delight. Don't you believe me? Why, are you not a pretty young woman? he remarked, with an oily look in his eye. The crimson came into her cheek, and she lowered her glance. Stop making fun of me, I beg you, she said softly. Is it true? Is what...