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Updated: June 13, 2025
Healthy flies shut up with diseased ones catch this mortal disease, and perish like the others. A most competent observer, M. Cohn, who studied the development of the Empusa very carefully, was utterly unable to discover in what manner the smallest germs of the Empusa got into the fly.
I wish her luck!" THE offices of Messrs Goble and Cohn were situated, like everything else in New York that appertains to the drama, in the neighborhood of Times Square. They occupied the fifth floor of the Gotham Theatre on West Forty-second Street.
Herzfeld and Cohn were Jews, old, white-bearded, orthodox Jews; their unpoetic business was the jobbing of iron beds; and Una was typical of that New York which the Jews are conquering, in having nebulous prejudices against the race; in calling them "mean" and "grasping" and "un-American," and wanting to see them shut out of offices and hotels.
They don't appeal to me. Her face grew sallower. 'I am glad your father isn't alive to hear that, she breathed. 'But father said intermarriage is the solution, retorted Simon. Mrs. Cohn was struck dumb. 'He was thinking how to make the Boers English, she said at last. 'And didn't he say the Jews must be English, too?
In this wise did both glide away from any deep issue or decision till the summer itself glided away. Mrs. Cohn, anxiously following the courtship through Sim's love-smitten eyes, her suggestion that the girl be brought to see her received with equal postponement, began to fret for the great thing to come to pass.
These opinions, never nebulous, became sharp as illuminated sky-signs when the Boer War began. 'The impertinent rascals! cried S. Cohn furiously. 'They have invaded our territory. 'Is it possible? ejaculated Mrs. Cohn. 'This comes of our kindness to them after Majuba! A darkness began to overhang the destinies of Britain. Three defeats in one week!
'That was because there were two Governments he forgets there will be only one United Empire now. He was not appeased till Private Cohn was promoted, and sent home a thrilling adventure, which the proud reader was persuaded by the lobby to forward to the communal organ. The organ asked for a photograph to boot. Then S. Cohn felt not only Gabbai, but town councillor again.
In the unending campaign which death wages with life, S. Cohn was slain, and Simon returned unscratched from the war to recite the Kaddish in his memory. Simon came back bronzed and a man. The shock of finding his father buried had supplied the last transforming touch; and, somewhat to his mother's surprise, he settled down contentedly to the business he had inherited.
As S. Cohn made another dramatic pause, it was suddenly borne in on his wife with a stab of insight that he was reading a description of himself nay, of herself, of her whole race, hidden in the great world, awaiting some vague future of glory that never came.
"No, Mr. Cohn, I do not. I'm the only crazy man talking. I'm crazy for that vase and I've got to have it right away." "You know vot dot vase costs?" Mr. B. Cohn's voice dripped syrup. "No, and I don't give a hoot what it costs. I want what I want when I want it. Do I get it?" "Ve-ell, lemme see. Vot time iss it?" A silence while B. Cohn evidently looked at his watch.
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