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"Maybe it's only one pan that is this way," suggested Heavy, timidly. They all ran out to see. The other pans were just like the first one. The nut meats had been removed and shells scattered in the pans instead. No wonder Isadore Phelps had wanted to pour the molasses taffy! "And they've got all the meats," said Belle Tingley.
What we know is that he had in later life some knowledge of the works of Aristotle, Julius Caesar, Seneca, Pliny, and Ptolemy; of Ahmet-Ben-Kothair the Arabic astronomer, Rochid the Arabian, and the Rabbi Samuel the Jew; of Isadore the Spaniard, and Bede and Scotus the Britons; of Strabo the German, Gerson the Frenchman, and Nicolaus de Lira the Italian.
Isadore Shongut, pressed, manicured, groomed, shaved something young about him; something conceited; his magenta bow tied to a nicety, his plushlike hair brushed up and backward after the manner of fashion's latest caprice, and smoothing a smooth hand along his smooth jowl. "Morning, ma. What's the row, Renie? Gee! it's a swell joint round here for a fellow with nerves! What's the row, kid?" Mr.
What we know is that he had in later life some knowledge of the works of Aristotle, Julius Caesar, Seneca, Pliny, and Ptolemy; of Ahmet-Ben-Kothair the Arabic astronomer, Rochid the Arabian, and the Rabbi Samuel the Jew; of Isadore the Spaniard, and Bede and Scotus the Britons; of Strabo the German, Gerson the Frenchman, and Nicolaus de Lira the Italian.
All ready!" shouted the boys outside the house, and the sextette of girls ran to get on their wraps. They bundled out of the house to find Tom, Bob and Isadore each drawing a long, flat, narrow toboggan. Helen clapped her hands and shouted: "Fine! fine! See these sleds, girls." "We're going to shoot the chutes, Heavy," sang out Madge. "Do you think you can stand it?"
"More than Rimsky ever played to in his life!" "Oh, Izzie, you make me sick, always counting counting!" "Your sister's right, Isadore. You got nothing to complain of if there was only six hundred in the house.
What a gem could be made of Isadore with a little careful polishing. But Deborah's way was different. She stayed in life, lived in it close, with its sharp edges bristling. In this there was something splendid, but there was something tragic, too. It was all very well for that young Jew to burn himself up with his talk about freedom, his feverish searching for new gods.
From his place before the white-and-gold mantel, staring steadfastly at the floor tiling, Isadore Kantor turned suddenly, a bit whiter and older at the temples. "I don't get your comedy, Leon." "'Wooden kimono' Leon?" "That's the way the fellows at camp joke about coffins, ma. I didn't mean anything but fun! Great Scott! Can't any one take a joke!" "O God! O God!"
They got aboard the toboggan once more and Isadore recklessly flung himself on it, too, and pushed off. At the moment there came a shrill hail from below. Tom was sending up some word of warning at the very top of his voice. But the three just starting down the slide could not distinguish his words.
What did you start to tell me about Uncle Isadore and the books? Slow, darling." Her voice was smooth and flowing, and the hand that stroked his hair was slow and soothing; the great stream of his passion abated and he huddled quietly at her feet. "Now begin, dearie. Uncle Isadore what?" "This morning, when I got down to to the office, two men had my books." "Yes." "O God!
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