The Melting-Pot. Israel Zangwill
completely transmogrified, minus the skull-cap, with a Prince Albert coat, and boots instead of slippers, so that his appearance is gentlemanly. Kathleen begins to search quietly and unostentatiously in the table-drawers, the chiffonier, etc., etc., for the candlestick.
MENDEL
I am sorry if I have kept you waiting——
[He rubs his hands importantly.]
You see I have so many pupils already. Won't you sit down?
[He indicates a chair.]
VERA [Flushing, embarrassed, releasing her hold of the door handle]
Thank you—I—I—I didn't come about pianoforte lessons.
MENDEL [Sighing in disappointment]
Ach!
VERA
In fact I—er—it wasn't you I wanted at all—I was just going.
MENDEL [Politely]
Perhaps I can direct you to the house you are looking for.
VERA
Thank you, I won't trouble you.
[She turns toward the door again.]
MENDEL
Allow me!
[He opens the door for her.]
VERA [Hesitating, struck by his manners, struggling with her anti-Jewish prejudice]
It—it—was your son I wanted.
MENDEL [His face lighting up]
You mean my nephew, David. Yes, he gives violin lessons.
[He closes the door.]
VERA
Oh, is he your nephew?
MENDEL
I am sorry he is out—he, too, has so many pupils, though at the moment he is only at the Crippled Children's Home—playing to them.
VERA
How lovely of him!
[Touched and deciding to conquer her prejudice]
But that's just what I came about—I mean we'd like him to play again at our Settlement. Please ask him why he hasn't answered Miss Andrews's letter.
MENDEL [Astonished]
He hasn't answered your letter?
VERA
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