408 RAISIN
"Here's a new holiday !" screamed Grune. "On a Wednesday! Have you got to chant the Sabbath prayers ? Eggs are so dear now five kopeks apiece !"
"Grune," commanded the cantor, "they may be one ruble apiece, two rubles, five rubles, one hundred rubles. Do you hear? Beat up two eggs for me, and don't talk!"
"To be sure, you earn so much money!" muttered Grune.
"Then you think it's all over with me?" said the cantor, boldly. "No, Grune!"
He wanted to tell her that he wasn't sure about it yet, there was still hope, it might be all a fancy, perhaps it was imagination, but he was afraid to say all that, and Grune did not understand what he stammered out. She shrugged her shoulders, and only said, "Upon my word !" and went to beat up the eggs.
The cantor sat and sang to himself. He listened to every note as though he were examining some one. Finding himself unable to take the high octave, he called out despairingly:
"Grune, make haste with the eggs !" His one hope lay in the eggs.
The cantoress brought them with a cross face, and grumbled :
"He wants eggs, and we're pinching and starving
The cantor would have liked to open his heart to her, so that she should not think the eggs were what he cared about; he would have liked to say, "Grune, I think I'm done for!" but he summoned all his courage and refrained.
