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Updated: May 7, 2025
Meanwhile to a gnawing consciousness of dinner-hour had assembled the house of Kantor. Attuned to the intimate atmosphere of the tenement which is so constantly rent with cry of child, child-bearing, delirium, delirium tremens, Leon Kantor had howled no impression into the motley din of things.
"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. "Elsass it's Elsass outside! He wants to sign Leon fifty concerts coast to coast two thousand next season!
By six o'clock, the shades were drawn against the dirty dusk of Allen Street, and the oilcloth-covered table dragged out center and spread by Esther Kantor, nine in years, in the sturdy little legs bulging over shoe-tops, in the pink cheeks that sagged slightly of plumpness, and in the utter roundness of face and gaze, but mysteriously older in the little-mother lore of crib and knee-dandling ditties and in the ropy length and thickness of the two brown plaits down her back.
Hasn't every prima donna a larynx to hid behind?" She lifted off her fur cap, spilling curls. "Well, I I'll be hanged!" said Lieutenant Kantor, his eyes lakes of her reflected loveliness. She let her hand linger in his. "Leon you really going how terrible how how wonderful!" "How wonderful your coming!" "I you think it was not nice of me to come?"
At twenty-one, when Leon Kantor played a Sunday-night concert, there was a human queue curling entirely around the square block of the opera-house, waiting its one, two, even three and four hours for the privilege of standing-room only.
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.
Fumbling for string and for notes the instrument could not yield up to him, the birdlike mouth began once more to open widely and terribly into the orificial O. It was then Abrahm Kantor came down with a large hollow resonance of palm against the aperture, lifting his small son and depositing him plop upon the family album. "Take that!
At slightly after six Abrahm Kantor returned, leading by a resisting wrist Leon Kantor, his stemlike little legs, hit midship, as it were, by not sufficiently cut-down trousers and so narrow and birdlike of face that his eyes quite obliterated the remaining map of his features, like those of a still wet nestling. All except his ears.
Ru-dolph, will you put down that bowl? Iz-zy for the last time I ask you for the last time " Erect now, Mrs. Kantor lifted a portentous hand, letting it hover. "I'm goin', ma; for golly sakes, I'm goin'!" said her recalcitrant one, shuffling off toward the staircase, shuffling, shuffling. Then Mrs.
"Six thousand if there was a cent," repeated Isadore Kantor; "more than Rimsky ever played to in his life!" "Oh, Izzy, you make me sick, always counting counting." "Your sister's right, Isadore. You got nothing to complain of if there was only six hundred in the house.
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