listen, and some of the women sob and wipe their aprons in their eyes.
It is very solemn, for Antanas Rudkus has become possessed of the idea
that he has not much longer to stay with his children. His speech leaves
them all so tearful that one of the guests, Jokubas Szedvilas, who keeps
a delicatessen store on Halsted Street, and is fat and hearty, is moved
to rise and say that things may not be as bad as that, and then to go on
and make a little speech of his own, in which he showers congratulations
and prophecies of happiness upon the bride and groom, proceeding to
particulars which greatly delight the young men, but which cause Ona
to blush more furiously than ever. Jokubas possesses what his
wife complacently describes as "poetiszka vaidintuve"--a poetical
imagination.

Now a good many of the guests have finished, and, since there is no
pretense of ceremony, the banquet begins to break up. Some of the men
gather about the bar; some wander about, laughing and singing; here
and there will be a little group, chanting merrily, and in sublime
indifference to the others and to the orchestra as well. Everybody is
more or less restless--one would guess that something is on their minds.
And so it proves. The last tardy diners are scarcely given time to
finish, before the tables and the debris are shoved into the corner, and
the chairs and the babies piled out of the way, and the real celebration
of the evening begins. Then Tamoszius Kuszleika, after replenishing
himself with a pot of beer, returns to his platform, and, standing up,
reviews the scene; he taps authoritatively upon the side of his violin,
then tucks it carefully under his chin, then waves his bow in an
elaborate flourish, and finally smites the sounding strings and closes
his eyes, and floats away in spirit upon the wings of a dreamy waltz.
His companion follows, but with his eyes open, watching where he treads,
so to speak; and finally Valentinavyczia, after waiting for a little and