Every one looked at him.

"Hear, my son!" he repeated in comic horror. Then relapsing into
English, he explained. "I've forgotten to give Leah a present from her
_chosan_."

"A-h-h!" Everybody gave a sigh of deep interest; Leah, whom the
exigencies of service had removed from his side to the head of the
table, half-rose from her seat in excitement.

Now, whether Samuel Levine had really forgotten, or whether he had
chosen the most effective moment will never be known; certain it is that
the Semitic instinct for drama was gratified within him as he drew a
little folded white paper out of his waistcoat pocket, amid the keen
expectation of the company.

"This," said he, tapping the paper as if he were a conjurer, "was
purchased by me yesterday morning for my little girl. I said to myself,
says I, look here, old man, you've got to go up to town for a day in
honor of Ezekiel Phillips, and your poor girl, who had looked forward to
your staying away till Passover, will want some compensation for her
disappointment at seeing you earlier. So I thinks to myself, thinks I,
now what is there that Leah would like? It must be something
appropriate, of course, and it mustn't be of any value, because I can't
afford it. It's a ruinous business getting engaged; the worst bit of
business I ever did in all my born days." Here Sam winked facetiously at
the company. "And I thought and thought of what was the cheapest thing I
could get out of it with, and lo and behold I suddenly thought of a
ring."