"Well, can they put the veil on the bride?" the beadle came and inquired.
"Yes, they can... No, tell them to wait a little longer!"
Nearly all the guests, who were tired of waiting, cried out that the tramps could very well be missed.
Reb Yitzchok-Aizik's face suddenly assumed another expression, the anger vanished, and he turned to me and a couple of other friends, and asked if we would drive to the town, and parley with the revolted almsgatherers.
"He has no brains, one can't depend on him," he said, referring to the messenger.
A horse was harnessed to a conveyance, and we drove off, followed by the mounted messenger.
"A revolt—a strike of almsgatherers, how do you like that?" we asked one another all the way. We had heard of workmen striking, refusing to work except for a higher wage, and so forth, but a strike of paupers—paupers insisting on larger alms as pay for eating a free dinner, such a thing had never been known.
In twenty minutes time we drove into Lipovietz.
In the market-place, in the centre of the town, stood the three great peasant wagons, furnished with fresh straw. 'The small horses were standing unharnessed, eating out of their nose-bags; round the wagons were a hundred poor folk, some dumb, others lame, the greater part blind, and half the town urchins with as many men.
All of them were shouting and making a commotion.
The Crooked One sat on a wagon, and banged it with his crutches; Long Mekabbel, with a red plaster on his neck, stood beside him.
