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Twenty-four of them, forming two coach parties, had gone to see some celebrated Catskill views, one to the Old Mountain House and the other to East Windham. Some were in the village. Miss Tevkin, wearing her immense straw hat, and with her opera-glass in her hand, was looking at birds in the vicinity of the hotel. Thus rambling about leisurely, she sauntered over to the main road near the grove.
Of the others Tevkin pointed out a man to me who knew six languages well and had a working acquaintance with several more; another who had published an excellent Hebrew translation of some of the English poets, and a third whose son, a young violinist, "had taken Europe by storm." An intellectual-looking Gentile made his entry.
The Four Questions are usually asked by the youngest son, but Emil, the Internationalist, could not be expected to take an active part in the ceremony, so Sasha, the Zionist, took his place. Sasha, however, did not read Hebrew, and old Tevkin had to be content with having the Four Questions read in English, the general answer to them being given by Tevkin and myself in Hebrew.
"Oh, we were so hungry, I don't think we knew what we were eating," Miss Tevkin returned, politely "Going to take the air on the veranda?" "Why no. We are going out for a walk," she answered in a tone that said as clearly as words that my company was not wanted. And, nodding with exaggerated amiability, they passed out The blood rushed to my face as though she had slapped it. I stood petrified.
Tevkin was charming in the fervent, yet tactful, hospitality with which he endeavored to assuage the bitterness of my visits. He seemed to say, "I see everything, my dear friend, and my heart goes out to you, but how can I help you?" His wife tried to be diplomatic "American young people imagine they own the earth," she once said to me, with a knowing glint in her beautiful eyes.
"I wish I deserved the compliment," I rejoined. "Unfortunately, I don't. I am glad I find time to read the newspapers "The newspapers are life," observed Miss Tevkin, "and life is the source of literature, or should be." "'Or should be!" Shapiro mocked her, fondly. "Is that a dig at the popular novels?" And in an aside to me, "Miss Tevkin has no use for them, you know." She smiled
"I certainly do. Go ahead, Mr. Tevkin." "What I want to say is a pure matter of business. Do you understand? If you don't want to go into it, just say so, and we shall drop it." "Of course," I answered We were unable to look each other in the face. "There is a parcel of real estate in Brooklyn," he resumed. "One could have it for a song."
I WAS in the lobby, chatting with the clerk across his counter and casting glances at the dining-room door. Miss Tevkin had not yet finished her meal and I was watching for her to appear. Presently she did, toying with Miss Siegel's hand "Feeling better now?" I asked, stepping up to meet them. "I hope you enjoyed your dinner."
Tevkin told me more about them. He spoke of the one who stayed in the café with admiration. "He's a real artist; some of his stories are perfect gems," he said. "He's a good fellow, too. Only he thinks too much of himself. But then perhaps this is an inevitable part of talent, the shadow that is inseparable from the light of genius."
The lawyer smiled sagely, as if what Mendelson said was precisely what he himself had meant to intimate I was inclined to think that Mendelson was right, but this did not detract from the force that drew me to Miss Tevkin When she reached the veranda the lawyer gallantly offered her a chair, but she declined it, pleasantly, and went indoors.
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