"Yes, yes, let me have something to eat," he shouted, as he brought his
fist down upon the table. "Bring me wine...and let it be good ...I am
thirsty enough to drink the river dry. ...Wine, and beer, and anything
else you can find, bring all here, and then, when I've had my fill, I'll
go."

"Go, Viola," Ephraim whispered in his sister's ear, "and bring him all
he asks for."

When Viola had left the room, Ascher appeared to grow calmer. He sat
down again leaning his arms upon the table.

"Yes," he muttered to himself: "I'll taste food with my children, before
I take up my stick and go...They say it's lucky to have the first drink
of the day served by one's own child ...and luck I will have again, at
any price... What good children! While I've been anything but a good
father to them, they run hither and thither and take the trouble to get
me food and drink, and I, I've brought them home nothing but a wooden
stick. But I'll repay them, so help me God, I'll make them rich yet, but
I've got nothing but a wooden stick, and I want money, no play without
money, and no luck either..."

Gradually a certain thoughtfulness overspread Ascher's agitated
features, his lips were tightly compressed, deep furrows lined his
forehead, while his eyes were fixed in a stony glare, as if upon some
distant object. In the meantime Ephraim had remained standing almost
motionless, and it was evident that his presence in the room had quite
escaped his father's observation. With a chilling shudder running
through his frame, his hair on end with horror, he listened to the