On his way out he unceremoniously
paused in front of me, a silver snuff-box in his left hand, and fell
to scrutinizing me. He had the appearance of a well-paid rabbi of
a large, prosperous town. "He is going to say, 'A green one,'" I
prophesied to myself, all but shuddering at the prospect. And, sure
enough, he did, but he took his time about it, which made the next
minute seem a year to me. He took snuff with tantalizing
deliberation. Next he sneezed with great zest and then he resumed
sizing me up. The suspense was insupportable. Another second
and I might have burst out, "For mercy's sake say 'A green one,'
and let us be done with it." But at that moment he uttered it of his
own accord: "A green one, I see. Where from?" And grasping my
hand he added in Hebrew, "Peace be to ye."
His first questions about me were obsequiously answered by the
man with the forked beard, whereupon my attention was attracted
by the fact that he addressed him by his Gentile name--that is, as
"Mr. Even," and not by his Hebrew name, as he would have done
in our birthplace.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168