Much of what he said was lost upon
me, for, although he knew that I was a rank outsider, he used a
jargon of nicknames, catch-phrases, and allusions that was
apparently peculiar to the East Side Boh?me. He was part of that
little world, and he was unable to put himself in the place of one
who was not. I subsequently had occasion to read one of his
articles and I found it full of the same jargon. The public did not
understand him, but he either did not know it or did not care
As he did not point out Tevkin to me, I concluded that the Hebrew
poet was not at the caf?
"Do you know Tevkin?" I inquired.
"There he is," he answered, directing my glance to a gray-haired,
clean-shaven, commonplace-looking man of medium stature who
stood in the chess corner, watching one of the games. "Do you
know him?"
"No, but I have heard of him. You did not include him in your list
of notables, did you?"
"Oh, well, he was a notable once upon a time. Our rule is, 'Let the
dead past bury it's dead.'"
I felt sorry for poor Tevkin.
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