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Season's Greetirips
HUMMEL
&
PERRY
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WILMINGTON,
N. C.
r
! NEW YEAR'S
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PIONEER
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NEW YEAR'S !
GREETINGS
THE COLUMBIA I
RECORD
Columbia, S. C.
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Thk Southern Israelite
From the Frying Pan into the Fire
A story in which Love ami Laughter Meet
Adapted from the German
( All Muhin Rrneri t'A)
lly OSCAR LEONARD
CHAPTER 7
The reader will perhaps he aston
ished to hear that while the ghost of
Reb Benzion was making the Rood
people of his town uneasy with his
nightly visits, Reb Benzion himself
was in the best of health attending
business in Berlin, where the waiters
of restaurants wondered at the enor
mous appetite of their Galician cus
tomer. His sleep was the sleep of a
healthy man, who was far from think
ing of death. But where did the will
come from? How were the signatures
and seals obtained ? These are some
questions which the readers have a
right to ask. The answer is short but
convincing. Reb Itzik Hersh took the
trouble of writing out the will and
sent it to Berlin to his friend, who
knew that for money all kinds of
seals could he obtained. As for the
signatures, they weie of fictitious per
sons, as the real names of the heads
of the community where Reb Benzion
was supposed to have breathed his
last were not known in the small
Galician town. Reb Itzik Hersh’s
friend also saw to it that Reb Ben
zion should remain there two months
longer than he had intended. He told
of all kinds of good business prospects
which kept the parsimonious man
from leav.ng the German capitol. At
home Reb Itzik Hersh, as we know,
was losing no time. He was working
out his plans, and when all was in
readiness, he advised his Berlin
friends to let Reb Benzion go. When
the latter saw that the supposed pros
pects failed to materialize, he left the
city mourning the money spent by
staying there too long. Nor was he
overjoyed by the fact that his journey
homeward was to last part of the win
ter.
By the end of December, late at
night, he at last arrived in his little
Galician town again. It was a dark
starless night, and the streets were
covered with glistening snow. A frost
which froze one’s breath tyrannized
the little town which lay buried in
snow. As he traveled through the
streets in a vehicle, Reb Benzion did
not meet one living being. The wagon
made its way through the deep snow
with great difficulty. The wheels
creaked and the horses, half frozen,
with icicles hanging down their
manes, breathed heavily as they drew
their burden. Only the moan of the
wind interrupted the silence of the
night, while from time to time the
driver’s voice reverberated in the still
ness :
Whao. Giddyap.”
In spite of the heavy fur coat in
which he was wrapped, Reb Benzion
was stiff with cold. His gray beard
was full of icicles and “peyes” (ear
locks) hung stiff on each side of his
face like daggers. He was filled with
joy when the wagon stopped in front
of a house which was familiar to him.
He got out as quickly as his stiff limbs
would permit him, approached the
gate and began to knock with all his
might. After pounding on the door
with fists and feet, he heard a voice
within ask:
“Who is there?”
. “A strange voice,” grumbled Reb
Benzion. “Confound it, they have
changed servants again! Come on, you
lazy blockhead!” he yelled as loud as
he could. “Open that gate.”
The voice from within, instead of
answering or saying anything encour
aging, asked again:
"Who is there?”
“What business is it of yours who
it is?” Benzion snarled. “Open the
door, you lazybones. It’s Benzion.
Now, do you know who it is, you dog
of a servant. Open this very minute!”
“Yes, yes, yes,” came a trembling
voice from within. “Reb Benzion, God
be with you. stay away from us, from
the living. Go back to your resting
place.”
“What is that, fellow muttering?”
Reb Benzion asked the driver.
“I can’t make it out myself. As far
as I can understand, he thinks you’re
a dead one. That’s a good one your
servant has on you.”
*'What?” snapped Benzion and he
shook his fist threateningly at the
gate. “To whom do you dare to speak
that way? You rascal, I’ll teach you
a lesson after I get in. Open the door
this very minute, you soul of a dog,
you!”
The “soul of a dog” did not seem to
take much pleasure in listening to
Reh Benzion’s compliments, and de
cided to let him rave and swear and
knock, while he went back to his warm
bed.
The driver clapped his hands, beat
his arms one against the other in an
effort to warm himself a little. But
as the frost seemed to gain in inten
sity, the driver remarked:
“That servant wants you to stay
away from the living. 1 guess if we
remain here half an hour longer his
wish will be fulfilled. This frost is
the kind that helps such things along."
Reb Benzion raved and knocked
with both fists at the gate until drops
of perspiration trickled down his brow
in spite of the fierce frost.
“As you see, sir.” said the driver,
“this servant is determined that you
stay away from him. He does not seem
ready for debates. Perhaps you could
try your luck with a neighbor—”
Reb Benzion thought that perhaps
the driver was right. Acting on his
suggestion he went to knock at the
nearest neighbor’s door.
“Who is at the gate,” a shrill voice
from within asked.
"It is I, Reb Shmaye. Will you
kindly open the gate for me?”
"Who did you say you were?” ask
ed the voice, apparently troubled.
"It is I, your neighbor. Benzion.”
“Benzion?” wondered the voice.
“Sh’ma Yisroel, Sh’ma Yisroel!"
Look here, my dear sir,” began the
driver, “I am beginning to be afraid
of you myself. We are all alone here,
you may tell me the truth. Are you
really a dead one? In any case, I want
you to pay me my money. I want to
be sure of my hard-earned cash. I
don’t care to have much to do with
dead people.”
(.has. D. Gordon, Preside,
imperial
HOTEL
COLUMBIA, S. ( .
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