Soon his soul grew punctured like a pin-cushion.

The Shalotten _Shammos_ was among the worst offenders, and he covered his back-handed proceedings with a ceaseless flow of complimentary conversation.
"Excellent fish, Mrs.Sugarman," he said, dexterously slipping some almonds behind his chair.
"What ?" said Mrs.Sugarman, who was hard of hearing.
"First-class plaice!" shouted the Shalotten _Shammos_, negligently conveying a bunch of raisins.
"So they ought to be," said Mrs.Sugarman in her thin tinkling accents, "they were all alive in the pan." "Ah, did they twitter ?" said Mr.Belcovitch, pricking up his ears.
"No," Bessie interposed.

"What do you mean ?" "At home in my town," said Mr.Belcovitch impressively, "a fish made a noise in the pan one Friday." "Well?
and suppose ?" said the Shalotten _Shammos_, passing a fig to the rear, "the oil frizzles." "Nothing of the kind," said Belcovitch angrily, "A real living noise.
The woman snatched it out of the pan and ran with it to the Rabbi.

But he did not know what to do.

Fortunately there was staying with him for the Sabbath a travelling Saint from the far city of Ridnik, a _Chasid_, very skilful in plagues and purifications, and able to make clean a creeping thing by a hundred and fifty reasons.