FullReads

‘That’s as plain as the nose on your face.’

‘You don’t remember me from Shool? Mr. Barzinsky! I had the rolling-up of the Scroll the time you had the elevation of it.’

‘Ah, indeed. At these solemn moments I scarcely notice people. But I am very glad to find you patronizing my humble establishment.’

‘I don’t want a barometer,’ said Solomon hurriedly.

‘That is fortunate, as I have just sold my last. But in the way of waterproofs, we have a new pattern, very seasonable.’

‘No, no; I didn’t come for a waterproof.’

‘These oilskins—-‘

‘I didn’t come to buy anything.’

‘Ah, you wish to sell me something.’

‘Not that either. The fact is, I’ve come to beg of you, as one Jew to another—-‘

‘A Schnorrer!’ interrupted Simeon Samuels. ‘Oh, Lord, I ought to have recognised you by that synagogue beginning.’

‘Me, a Schnorrer!’ The little man swelled skywards. ‘Me, Solomon Barzinsky, whose shop stood in Sudminster twenty years before you poked your nose in—-‘

‘I beg your pardon. There! you see I’m a beggar, too.’ And Simeon Samuels laughed mirthlessly. ‘Well, you’ve come to beg of me.’ And his fingers caressed his patriarchal beard.

‘I don’t come on my own account only,’ Barzinsky stammered.

‘I understand. You want a contribution to the Passover Cake Fund. My time is precious, so is yours. What is the Parnass giving?’

‘I’m not begging for money. I represent the congregation.’

‘Dear me, why didn’t you come to the point quicker? The congregation wishes to beg my acceptance of office. Well, it’s very good of you all, especially as I’m such a recent addition. But I really feel a diffidence. You see, my views of the Sabbath clash with those of the congregation.’

‘They do!’ cried Barzinsky, leaping at his opportunity.

‘Yes, I am for a much stricter observance than appears general here. Scarcely one of you carries his handkerchief tied round his loins like my poor old father, peace be upon him! You all carry the burden of it impiously in a pocket.’

‘I never noticed your handkerchief round your waist!’ cried the bewildered Barzinsky.

‘Perhaps not; I never had a cold; it remained furled.’

Simeon Samuels’ superb insolence twitched Barzinsky’s mouth agape. ‘But you keep your shop open!’ he cried at last.

‘That would be still another point of clashing,’ admitted Simeon Samuels blandly. ‘Altogether, you will see the inadvisability of my accepting office.’

‘Office!’ echoed Barzinsky, meeting the other’s ironic fence with crude thwacks. ‘Do you think a God-fearing congregation would offer office to a Sabbath-breaker?’

‘Ah, so that was at the back of it. I suspected something underhand in your offer. I was to be given office, was I, on condition of closing my shop on Saturday? No, Mr. Barzinsky. Go back and tell those who sent you that Simeon Samuels scorns stipulations, and that when you offer to make him Parnass unconditionally he may consider your offer, but not till then. Good-bye. You must jog along with your present apology for a Parnass.’

‘You–you Elisha ben Abuyai!’ And, consoled only by the aptness of his reference to the atheist of the Talmud, Barzinsky rushed off to tell the Parnass how Simeon Samuels had insulted them both.

XIII

The Parnass, however, was not to be drawn yet. He must keep himself in reserve, he still insisted. But perhaps, he admitted, Simeon Samuels resented mere private members or committeemen. Let the Gabbai go.

Accordingly the pompous treasurer of the synagogue strode into the notorious shop on the Sabbath itself, catching Simeon Samuels red-handed.

But nothing could be suaver than that gentleman’s ‘Good Shabbos. What can I do for you?’

‘You can shut up your shop,’ said the Gabbai brusquely.

‘And how shall I pay your bill, then?’

‘I’d rather give you a seat and all the honours for nothing than see this desecration.’

‘You must have a goodly surplus, then.’

‘We have enough.’

‘That’s strange. You’re the first Gabbai I ever knew who was satisfied with his balance-sheet. Is it your excellent management, I wonder, or have you endowments?’

‘That’s not for me to say. I mean we have five or six hundred pounds in legacies.’