He was quite evidently from the country and he was also quite evidently a Yankee, and from behind his bowed spectacles he peered inquisitively at the little oily Jew who occupied the other half of the car seat with him.
The little Jew looked at him deprecatingly. “Nice day,” he began politely.
“You’re a Jew, ain’t you?” queried the Yankee.
“Yes, sir, I’m a clothing salesman,” handing him a card.
“But you’re a Jew?”
“Yes, yes, I’m a Jew,” came the answer.
“Well,” continued the Yankee, “I’m a Yankee, and in the little village in Maine where I come from I’m proud to say there ain’t a Jew.”
“Dot’s why it’s a village,” replied the little Jew quietly.
