"I come to do honour to my friend, Jacob Wassyl," said
Simon in a loud voice.

"Of course," cried a number of friendly voices. "And why not?
That is quite right."

"Jacob Wassyl wants none of you here," shouted Rosenblatt
over the crowd.

"Who speaks for Jacob Wassyl?" cried a voice. It was Jacob himself,
standing in the door, wet with sweat, flushed with dancing and
exhilarated with the beer and with all the ardours of his wedding
day. For that day at least, Jacob owned the world. "What?" he
cried, "is it my friend Simon Ketzel and my friend Joseph Pinkas?"

"We were not invited to come to your wedding, Jacob Wassyl,"
replied Simon, "but we desired to honour your bride and yourself."

"Aye, and so you shall. You are welcome, Simon Ketzel. You are
welcome, Joseph Pinkas. Who says you are not?" he continued,
turning defiantly to Rosenblatt.

Rosenblatt hesitated, and then grunted out something that sounded
like "Slovak swine!"

"Slovak!" cried Jacob with generous enthusiasm. "We are all Slovak.
We are all Polak. We are all Galician. We are all brothers. Any man
who says no, is no friend of Jacob Wassyl."

Shouts of approval rose from the excited crowd.