"No, I took it all out before I gave away the coat." "God be thanked!" said Simcha fervently in Yiddish.

"Where is it?
I want a few shillings for grocery." "I gave it away before, I tell you!" Simcha groaned and fell into her chair with a crash that rattled the tray and shook the cups.
"Here's the end of the week coming," she sobbed, "and I shall have no fish for _Shabbos_." "Do not blaspheme!" said Reb Shemuel, tugging a little angrily at his venerable beard.

"The Holy One, blessed be He, will provide for our _Shabbos_" Simcha made a sceptical mouth, knowing that it was she and nobody else whose economies would provide for the due celebration of the Sabbath.
Only by a constant course of vigilance, mendacity and petty peculation at her husband's expense could she manage to support the family of four comfortably on his pretty considerable salary.

Reb Shemuel went and kissed her on the sceptical mouth, because in another instant she would have him at her mercy.

He washed his hands and durst not speak between that and the first bite.
He was an official of heterogeneous duties--he preached and taught and lectured.