that they
should learn me to write, _verstehst du_, _aber_ right at the start old
man Feinrubin takes me in hand and he talks to me only in English. And
if I am understanding him, _schon gut_; and if I don't understand him
then he gives me a _potch_ on the side of the head, Philip, which the
next time he says it I could understand him good. And that's the way you
should do with the young feller, Philip. I bet yer he would a damsight
sooner learn English as get a _Schlag_ every ten minutes."

Again Philip nodded, and by the time they had arrived at the enclosure
for the relations of immigrants he had become so accustomed to the hum
of Marcus' conversation that he refrained from uttering even a
perfunctory "Uh-huh." They sat on a hard bench for more than half an
hour, while the attendants bawled the common surnames of every country
from Ireland to Asiatic Turkey, and at length the name Borrochson
brought Philip to his feet. He rushed to the gateway, followed by
Marcus, just as a stunted lad of fifteen emerged, staggering under the
burden of a huge cloth-covered bundle.

"Uncle Philip," the lad cried, dropping the bundle. Then clutching
Marcus round the neck he showered kisses on his cheeks until Philip
dragged him away.

"I am your uncle," Philip said in _Juedisch Deutsch_. "Where is your
father?"

Without answering the question Yosel Borrochson took a stranglehold of
Philip and subjected him to a second and more violent osculation. It was
some minutes before Philip could disengage himself from his nephew's
embrace and then he led him none too gently to a seat.

"Never mind the kissing," he said; "where's your father?"

"He is not here," Yosel Borrochson replied with a vivid blush.

"I see he is not here," Philip rejoined. "Where is he?"

"He is in Minsk," said young Borrochson.

"In Minsk?" Philip and Marcus cried with one voice, and then Marcus sat
down on the bench and rocked to and fro in an ecstasy of mirth.

"In Minsk!" he gasped hysterically, and slapped his thighs by way of
giving expression to his emotions. "Did you ever hear the like?"

"Polatkin, do me the favour," Philip begged, "and don't make a damn fool
of yourself."

"What did I told you?" Polatkin retorted, but Philip turned to his
nephew.

"What did your father do with the ticket and the money I sent him?" he
asked.

"He sold the ticket and he used all the money for the wedding," the boy
replied.

"The wedding?" Philip exclaimed. "Wha