Part 26 (1/2)

asked Belcovitch.

There was a murmur of a.s.sent with a fainter mingling of dissent. The motion that the _Maggid's_ application be refused was put to the vote and carried by a large majority.

It was the fate of the _Maggid_ to be the one subject on which Belcovitch and the Shalotten _Shammos_ agreed. They agreed as to his transcendent merits and they agreed as to the adequacy of his salary.

”But he's so weakly,” protested Mendel Hyams, who was in the minority.

”He coughs blood.”

”He ought to go to a sunny place for a week,” said Belcovitch compa.s.sionately.

”Yes, he must certainly have that,” said Karlkammer. ”Let us add as a rider that although we cannot pay him more per week, he must have a week's holiday in the country. The Shalotten _Shammos_ shall write the letter to Rothschild.”

Rothschild was a magic name in the Ghetto; it stood next to the Almighty's as a redresser of grievances and a friend of the poor, and the Shalotten _Shammos_ made a large part of his income by writing letters to it. He charged twopence halfpenny per letter, for his English vocabulary was larger than any other scribe's in the Ghetto, and his words were as much longer than theirs as his body. He also filled up printed application forms for Soup or Pa.s.sover cakes, and had a most artistic sense of the proportion of orphans permissible to widows and a correct instinct for the plausible duration of sicknesses.

The Committee agreed _nem. con._ to the grant of a seaside holiday, and the Shalotten _Shammos_ with a gratified feeling of importance waived his twopence halfpenny. He drew up a letter forthwith, not of course in the name of the Sons of the Covenant, but in the _Maggid's_ own.

He took the magniloquent sentences to the _Maggid_ for signature. He found the _Maggid_ walking up and down Royal Street waiting for the verdict. The _Maggid_ walked with a stoop that was almost a permanent bow, so that his long black beard reached well towards his baggy knees.

His curved eagle nose was grown thinner, his long coat s.h.i.+nier, his look more haggard, his corkscrew earlocks were more matted, and when he spoke his voice was a tone more raucous. He wore his high hat--a tall cylinder that reminded one of a weather-beaten turret.

The Shalotten _Shammos_ explained briefly what he had done.

”May thy strength increase!” said the _Maggid_ in the Hebrew formula of grat.i.tude.

”Nay, thine is more important,” replied the Shalotten _Shammos_ with hilarious heartiness, and he proceeded to read the letter as they walked along together, giant and doubled-up wizard.

”But I haven't got a wife and six children,” said the _Maggid_, for whom one or two phrases stood out intelligible. ”My wife is dead and I never was blessed with a _Kaddish_.”

”It sounds better so,” said the Shalotten _Shammos_ authoritatively.

”Preachers are expected to have heavy families dependent upon them. It would sound lies if I told the truth.”

This was an argument after the _Maggid's_ own heart, but it did not quite convince him.

”But they will send and make inquiries,” he murmured.

”Then your family are in Poland; you send your money over there.”

”That is true,” said the _Maggid_ feebly. ”But still it likes me not.”

”You leave it to me,” said the Shalotten _Shammos_ impressively. ”A shamefaced man cannot learn, and a pa.s.sionate man cannot teach. So said Hillel. When you are in the pulpit I listen to you; when I have my pen in hand, do you listen to me. As the proverb says, if I were a Rabbi the town would burn. But if you were a scribe the letter would burn. I don't pretend to be a _Maggid_, don't you set up to be a letter writer.”

”Well, but do you think it's honorable?”

”Hear, O Israel!” cried the Shalotten _Shammos_, spreading out his palms impatiently. ”Haven't I written letters for twenty years?”

The _Maggid_ was silenced. He walked on brooding. ”And what is this place, Burnmud, I ask to go to?” he inquired.

”Bournemouth,” corrected the other. ”It is a place on the South coast where all the most aristocratic consumptives go.”

”But it must be very dear,” said the poor _Maggid_, affrighted.