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Updated: June 5, 2025
But I don't know how to go about getting that sort of job for him. I'm not in with military people. Look here, you've a lot of influence with the War Office " "No," I said. "None." "Nonsense. You must have. A word from you I'll tell you what we'll do. I'll work Ascher's naturalisation papers for him, and you get Tim taken on by the Army Flying Corps people."
Ascher, "he has had no time. That abundant, restless energy of his is for ever pressing out into fresh activities." I gathered, more from her tone than from her actual words that only an effete, devitalised creature would call on me. A man of abundant energy would naturally sit half the day in Mrs. Ascher's studio, while she made a fancy body for him in damp clay.
With a sigh of relief, the words escaped Ascher's bosom: "He did not look inside..." he muttered to himself. Then he removed his hand from the door-knob, came back into the centre of the room, and approaching the table, rested his hand upon it. "Ephraim..." he said after a while, in that suppressed tone which seemed to be peculiar to him, "aren't you going to synagogue?"
Ascher's prejudice against cinematographs, improved or unimproved, was certainly strong. I found it hard to understand exactly how she felt. She found no difficulty in regarding Gorman, a devoted politician, as a hero. When she had no objection to the form of entertainment with which he provided the public, it was difficult to see why she kicked against moving pictures.
He said that pleasures were more important than work, because without pleasures no work could be really well done. When he reached that point I began to see how he meant to work up to the cinematograph and Tim's invention. I tried to get a glimpse of Mrs. Ascher's face. I wanted to find out how she was taking this glorification of Tim's blasphemy against art.
"I never realised before how magnificently paradoxical your Irish minds are. That pose of abject self depreciation which is in reality not wholly a pose but a vehement protest against the shallow judgment of a conventionalised culture " Ascher's language was a little confusing to me, but I could guess at what he meant.
Gradually a certain thoughtfulness overspread Ascher's agitated features, his lips were tightly compressed, deep furrows lined his forehead, while his eyes were fixed in a stony glare, as if upon some distant object. In the meantime Ephraim had remained standing almost motionless, and it was evident that his presence in the room had quite escaped his father's observation.
I saw and heard dimly as if in a dream, or through a mist. Poor Tim trembled as he laid his cash register down on one of Ascher's mahogany tables. I could hear the keys and bars of the machine rattling together while he handled it. Ascher spoke through a telephone receiver which stood at his elbow. Another man entered the room. We all shook hands with him.
It was strange that the events of that memorable night, and the vicissitudes that had preceded it, had left no recollection behind, and his children took good care not to re-awaken, by the slightest hint, his sleeping memory. A carriage drew up one day in front of Ascher's house. There has evidently been a splendid crop of oats this year. Uncle Gabriel has come.
The cook must be a descendant of one of those artists whom Lord Beaconsfield described in "Tancred," and he has found in Ascher's house a situation which ought to satisfy him. Ascher does not care for sumptuousness or abundance; but he knows how to eat well.
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