the fish will be home before you

  "An unnatural death on you, you--"   "Lord! Sal, how you've altered!"   "Ladies, here you are--"   "I give you my word, sir, the fish will be home before you."   "Painted in the best style, for a tanner--"   "A spoonge, mister?"   "I'll cut a slice of this melon for you for--"   "She's dead, poor thing, peace be upon him."   "_Yontovdik_! Three bob for one purse containing--"   "The real live tattooed Hindian, born in the African Harchipellygo. Walk up."   "This way for the dwarf that will speak, dance, and sing."   "Tree lemons a penny. Tree lemons--"   "A _Shtibbur_ (penny) for a poor blind man--"   "_Yontovdik! Yontovdik! Yontovdik! Yontovdik!_"   And in this last roar, common to so many of the mongers, the whole Babel would often blend for a moment and be swallowed up, re-emerging anon in its broken multiplicity.