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Updated: May 14, 2025
"All right all right drive me crazy because he's got a birthday." "Leon baby if you don't stop hollering you'll make yourself sick. Abrahm, I never saw him like this he's green " "I'll green him. Where is that old feedle from Isadora that seventy-five-cents one?" "I never thought of that! You broke it that time you got mad at Isadore's lessons. I'll run down.
"Let him in, Roody. I'd like to know what good it will do to try to keep him out." In an actual rain of perspiration, his tie slid well under one ear, Abrahm Kantor burst in, mouthing the words before his acute state of strangulation would let them out.
To enter Abrahm Kantor's Brasses, was three steps down, so that his casement show-window, at best filmed over with the constant rain of dust ground down from the rails above, was obscure enough, but crammed with copied loot of khedive and of czar. The seven-branch candlestick so biblical and supplicating of arms. An urn, shaped like Rebecca's, of brass, all beaten over with little pocks.
'Dollar fifteen, I says anything so he should shut up with his hollering for what he seen in the window." "He seen something in the window he wanted, Abrahm?" "Didn't I tell you? A feedle! A four-dollar feedle! A moosiker, so we should have another feedler in the family for some thirty-cents lessons." "Abrahm you mean he our Leon wanted a violin?" "'Wanted, she says.
With a spring, his son was at the door, unlocking and flinging it back. "Come in, pa." The years had weighed heavily upon Abrahm Kantor in avoirdupois only. He was himself plus eighteen years, fifty pounds, and a new sleek pomposity that was absolutely oleaginous.
She drew her son closer, crushing his puny cheek up against hers, cupping his bristly little head in her by no means immaculate palms. "He wanted a violin! It's come, Abrahm! The dream of all my life my prayers it's come! I knew it must be one of my children if I waited long enough and prayed enough. A musician! He wants a violin! He cried for a violin! My baby!
No word between them, only an unfinished sweetness, waiting to be linked up. Suddenly there burst in Abrahm Kantor, in a carefully rehearsed gale of bluster. "Quick, Leon! I got the car down-stairs. Just fifteen minutes to make the ferry. Quick! The sooner we get him over there the sooner we get him back! I'm right, mamma? Now, now! No waterworks! Get your brother's suit-case, Isadore. Now, now!
Often at lunch, or even the evening meal, this bell would ring in on Abrahm Kantor's digestive well-being, and while he hurried down, napkin often bib-fashion still about his neck, and into the smouldering lanes of copper, would leave an eloquent void at the head of his well-surrounded table.
This is his girl, a five years' contract signed yesterday five hundred dollars an opera for a beginner six rôles not bad nu?" "Abrahm, you must ask Mr. Ginsberg please to excuse Leon until after his concert " "Shake hands with him, Ginsberg. He's had his hand shook enough in his life, and by kings, too shake it once more with an old bouncer like you!" Mr.
With a spring his son was at the door, unlocking and flinging it back. "Come in, pa." The years had weighed heavily upon Abrahm Kantor in avoirdupois only. He was himself plus eighteen years, fifty pounds, and a new sleek pomposity that was absolutely oleaginous.
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