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Page 44 The Southern Israelite Always iirsl in ( eniral and South Georgia Tl be M relegi acc rapl ► n i Macon, Georgia r c ( d 103 Yearn of 5> ) l J i Constructive l Service From the Frying Pan into the Fire A Story in which Love and Laughter Meet Adapted from the (ifrman ( ill Riuhi* Renerml) By OSCAR LEONARD Except for snoring here and there, the silence of the graveyard reigned in the place. He found a bench near the stove, stretched himself on it, and wrapping his fur coat about him, was asleep in a few’ minutes. When the wonder worker was cer tain that the strange visitor had left the house, he moved cautiously from his place and lit the candle. Seeing his adjutants as well as the other members of his household still tremb ling with fear, he said, as he rolled up his eyes: "Foolish children that you are. Do you not see that I have already sent the dead man out of this house? Of course I had a very hard struggle with him, but I succeeded in the end to make him leave.” Chapter 8. The large clock on the city hall tower announced the sixth hour. The synagogue was beginning to fill rapid ly w'ith worshipers with their prayer shawls under their arms, coming sing ly and in groups. There was general astonishment at finding a man wrapped in a fine fur coat sleeping on a bench near the stove. He did not look like the shelterless paupers who seek shelter in synagogues. They could not see w’ho it was because his face was hidden in the broad fur col lar. "This fellow must be a thief,” said one worshiper, “else where did he get such an expensive fur coat. ‘Claus- tiers’ are not in the habit of indulging in such luxuries.” “He can be nothing else,” nodded a few others in the group. “Why, of course, he is a thief. I know it. There never was a pauper who had to sleep in a synagogue in a fur coat,” came from a belated ar rival. “Last week my ‘talis’ was stolen,” complained another. "Some one stole my prayer book.” "I am missing my ‘Chomish’ (Bible).” “Some one stole my wife’s earings. They were of pure silver.” “We have the thief now and he shall not escape us.” “The coat he w’ears must be stolen, too. “I saw a fur coat like that one in the house of Benzion the miser.” “Maybe it was stolen from his house.” M hile the worshippers chatted at their ease, Reb Shmaye appeared. He smoked his long pipe and was attired in his heavy coat. He wore a broad black belt over his long coat. From his hind pocket a large red handker chief was seen. Approaching the group before the stove he said: “Have you heard the latest?” “The latest?” some one present asked. "Are you going to tell us some thing new ? Silence, silence, Rey Shmaye Jankev is going to tell some news.” “Benzion, who died some time ago —” he began, only to be interrupted by many voices: “The deceased miser. Benzie What happened to him?” “Benzion, the dead miser, came p visit our beloved Rebbe last night’” “Benzion?” exclaimed all in high pitch. “Yes, Benzion, just as 1 said and you heard. And do you think he came like an ordinary man? Not at all. He came with a wagon drawn by tw< horses. Nor was a driver absent. He stopped in front of the Rebbe's house at midnight. I need not tell you that the horses were the well-known black flogs of Gehenna and the driver w a * no other than the “gehenim shamos" (Sexton of Hades).” "The ‘gehinimshamos,’ ” they yelled in fright and astonishment, “the ge- henim shamos was driving the wagon in which sat Reb Benzion, who just died—that is horrible, horrible!’’ “And did you see him. *C7ahi!’ some one exclaimed. “So may my eyes behold the Mes siah as I have seen him.” “Horrible! It makes me shiver t< hear of it.” “Lord of the Universe!” “Are you sure you saw him?" was the next question. “How did he look'’" "Like a corpse, white as chalk.” “Was he wrapped in a shroud?" “Of course he was. What a ques tion!” “What did he want of the Rebbe?" “He asked that the Rebbe pray f«r his soul. He begged and entreated in such a way that he could have moved a stone.” “Even a stone! Oh, Just God." “He did not want to leave the house at all,” continued Reb Schmaye. around the circle drew nearer an«i nearer. “He could not be made t leave the place, neither by theats nor kindness. The rebbe said that ne\er in his life was a ghost so determined to get a hearing. Not even the sacred books which we held in our hand? made the dead Benzion disappear. “Not even the sacred books. Mir acle of miracles!” “Did you also hear him? ’ came an other voice from the circle. “As clearly as I hear you speak. “That is wonderful, wonderful, in deed.” While the men were marvelling » ; the ‘gabi’s” story, the sexton of the synagogue entered. Noticing there was some one still sleeping • this late hour, he approached tn bench and began pulling the i oat, “Get up, ‘fetter,’ get up. It is tw* o pray.” Reb Benzion opened his eyes itretched his limbs, and yawned. “Good Lord,” cried the sexton ‘right, “it is Benzion the miser. The sexton’s cry of horror pj er ‘ he ears of all those present an • ■ushed to the place whence it» iVhen they saw the figure o ^ vhom they thought wa> 1 ea _ ne 0 «t ■ushed madly from the synag j{ nto the street with loud > ‘Givalt, Givalt!”