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Updated: September 25, 2025
Each afternoon when the automobile factory let out, Jimmie would get an evening paper and take it to Deror's tailor-shop and the two would spell out the news. By God, look at this! Did you ever hear the like? The man in charge of the Bolshevik foreign office was a Marxian Jew who had helped edit the Novy Mir, the revolutionary paper which Scholem had read to Jimmie!
It was better that it should be deposited in the most unlikely place, and with some unofficial person who might not be supposed to have it in charge. "I have it!" said the Seigneur. "The money shall be placed in old Louis Trudel's safe in the wall of the tailor-shop." It was so arranged, after Charley's protests of unwillingness, and counter-appeals from the others.
Affected by the gloom of the place, the two visitors at once prepared for their return journey, but the manner of the tailorman's death arrested their sympathies, touched the humanity in them. The woman was much impressed. They asked to see the body of the man. They were taken to the door of the tailor-shop, while their horses were being brought round.
Then he smote his hands together, and the wall of the tailor-shop opened as it had done twice before, and there came forth forty slaves clad in crimson, and bearing bowls full of money in their hands. After them came two leading a horse as white as snow, with a saddle of gold studded with diamonds and rubies and emeralds and sapphires. After came a body-guard of twenty warriors clad in gold armor.
It had filed past the doorway of the tailor-shop; it had loitered on the other side of the street; it had been measured for more clothes than in three months past that it might see Charley at work in the shop, cross-legged on a bench, or wielding the goose, his eye glass in his eye.
"What's his name, darlin'?" "The letter I took him was addressed, 'To the Sick Man at Jo Portugais' House at Vadrome Mountain." "Ah, thin, the Cure knows. 'Tis some rich man come to get well, and plays at bein' tailor. But why didn't the letther come to his name, I wander now? That's what I wander." Rosalie shook her head, and looked reflectively through the window towards the tailor-shop.
Reaching them as they mounted, he fired, and brought down his man a shivering quack- doctor, who, like his leader, had seen a sight in the tailor-shop that struck terror to his soul. Two of the others then fired at Jo, who had caught a horse by the head. He fell without a sound, and lay upon his face he did not hear the hoofs of the escaping horses nor any other sound.
From above the frosted part of the windows of the post-office, in the corner where she sorted letters, Rosalie could look over at the tailor's shop at an angle; could sometimes even see M'sieu' standing at the long table with a piece of chalk, a pair of shears, or a measure. She watched the tailor-shop herself, but it annoyed her when she saw any one else do so.
It was better that it should be deposited in the most unlikely place, and with some unofficial person who might not be supposed to have it in charge. "I have it!" said the Seigneur. "The money shall be placed in old Louis Trudel's safe in the wall of the tailor-shop." It was so arranged, after Charley's protests of unwillingness, and counter-appeals from the others.
The late afternoon of the day in which Rosalie decided to nail the cross on the church door again, Paulette arrived to ask for letters at the moment that the office wicket was closed, and Rosalie had answered that it was after office hours, and had almost closed the door in her face. As she turned away Jo Portugais came out of the tailor-shop opposite. He saw Paulette, and stood still an instant.
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