FullReads

On his progress towards the palace of his sire, Isaac Borrachsohn, with Christian symbols printed large upon his person, alienated nine loyal Hebrew votes from his father’s party and collected a following of small boys which nearly blocked the narrow streets. The crosses were bad enough, but when it was made clear that the contamination, in the form of bright pink soap, had penetrated to the innermost recesses of the heir of the Barrachsohns, the aunts, in frozen horror, turned for succour and advice to the Rabbi. But he could only confirm their worst fears. “Soap,” said he, “is from the fat of pigs. Our boy is defiled. To-morrow he must be purified at the synagogue. I told you it was a Christian school.”

Then did the Assemblyman quail before the reproach of his women. Then did he bite his nails in indecision and remorse and swear to be revenged upon the woman who had dared so to pollute his son. Then did Isaac weep continuously, noisily, but ineffectually for, on the morrow, to the synagogue he went.

Miss Bailey, when she saw that he was absent, was mildly self-reproachful and uneasy. If she could have known of the long and complicated rites and services which she had brought upon the boy who had been entrusted to her to be kept happy and out of mischief, she might not have listened so serenely to the janitor’s announcement two days later.

“Borrachsohn and a whole push of women, and an old bird with a beard, are waitin’ for you in the boys’ yard,” he whispered with great empressement. “I sent them there,” he explained, “because they wouldn’t fit anywhere else. There’s about a hundred of them.”

Mr. Borrachsohn’s opening remark showed that the force of Isaac’s speech was hereditary. “Are you the — — young woman who’s been playing such fool tricks with my son? You’ll wish you minded your own — business before I get through with you.”

The belligerent attitude was reflected by the phalanx of female relatives, whose red roses waved in defiance now, as they had nodded in amity a few short weeks before. For an instant Teacher did not grasp the full meaning of Mr. Borrachsohn’s greeting. Then suddenly she realized that this man, this trafficker in the blood and the honour of his people, had dared to swear at her, Constance Bailey. When her eyes met those of the Assemblyman he started slightly, and placed Isaac between him and this alarming young person who seemed not at all to realize that he could “break her” with a word.

“Is this your child?” she demanded. And he found himself answering meekly:

“Yes ma’an.”

“Then take him away,” she commanded. “He is not fit to be with decent children. I refuse to teach him.”

“You can’t refuse,” said Mr. Borrachsohn. “It is the law–“

“Law!” repeated Teacher. “What is the law to you?” She was an open-eyed young person; she had spent some months in Mr. Borrachsohn’s district; she had a nasty energy of phrase; and the King of Hester Street has never translated the ensuing remarks to the wife of his bosom nor to the gentle-eyed old Rabbi who watched, greatly puzzled by his ideal of a Christian persecutor and this very different reality. Gradually the relatives saw that the accuser had become the accused, but they were hardly prepared to see him supplicating and even unsuccessfully.

“No, I won’t take him. I tell you his language is awful. I can’t let the other children hear him.”

“But I shall see that he swears no more. We taught him for a joke. I’ll stop him.”

“I’m afraid you can’t.”

“Well, you try him. Try him for two weeks. He is a good boy; he will swear no more.”

“Very well,” was Teacher’s ungracious acquiescence; “I shall try him again. And if he should swear–“

“You will not wash out his mouth–“

“I shall, and this time I shall use hot water and sapolio and washing soda.”

Mr. Borrachsohn smiled blandly and turned to explain this dictum to his clan. And the dazed Miss Bailey saw the anger and antagonism die out of the faces before her and the roses above them, heard Mr. Borrachsohn’s gentle, “We would be much obliged if you will so much accommodate us,” saw the Rabbi lift grateful eyes to the ceiling and clasp his hands, saw Mrs. Borrachsohn brush away a tear of joy, and felt Isaac’s soft and damp little palm placed within her own by the hand of his royal sire, saw the jetted capes, the flounced skirts, and befeathered hats follow the blue and brass buttons of the janitor, the broadcloth of the Assemblyman and the alpaca of the Rabbi, heard the door close with a triumphant bang, saw the beaming face of the returning janitor, and heard his speech of congratulation:

“I heard it all; I was afraid to leave you alone with them. Will you excuse me, Miss Bailey, if I just pass the remark that you’re a living wonder?”

Still densely puzzled and pondering as to whether she could hope ever to understand these people, she sought the Principal and told him the whole story. “And now why,” she asked, “did he make such a fuss about the washing only to yield without a struggle at the end?”

The Principal laughed. “You are mistaken,” said he. “Mr. Borrachsohn gained his point and you most gracefully capitulated.”

“I,” cried Teacher; “I yield to that horrid man! Never! I said I should use soda and sapolio–“

“Precisely,” the Principal acquiesced. “And both soda and sapolio are kosher–lawful, clean. Miss Bailey, oh, Miss Bailey, you can never be haughty and lofty again, for you met ‘that horrid man’ in open battle and went weakly down before him.”