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Updated: May 10, 2025
With his grandmother's future thus off his mind, the artist had settled down to making a picture of the ruined castle which he commanded from his bedroom window. But when the through ticket for Jerusalem came from the agent at Vienna, and he had brazenly endured Yossel's blessings for the same, his artistic instinct demanded to see how the Bube was taking her hero's desertion.
"Stand back!" shouted his parent. "You do not know so well as me; dere is dandger. Mitout attention he will eggsplode." "I want to play with ut," protested August, beginning to cry. "Ach, soh; you cry, bube!" vociferated Mr. Sieppe. "Mommer," addressing Mrs. Sieppe, "he will soh soon be ge-whipt, eh?" "I want my boa-wut," screamed August, dancing. "Silence!" roared Mr. Sieppe.
Solomon was not spiritual, he would not even kiss a Hebrew Pentateuch that he had dropped, unless his father was looking, and but for the personal supervision of the Bube the dirty white fringes of his "four-corners" might have got tangled and irredeemably invalidated for all he cared.
So this was all his Machiavellian scheming had achieved to bring about the very marriage it was meant to avert! He had dug a pit and fallen into it himself. All this would indeed amuse Rozenoffski and Leopold Barstein. He laughed bitterly. 'Nay, it was no laughing matter, said the Bube indignantly. 'For I know well how Yossel longed to go with me to die in Jerusalem.
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