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Updated: June 22, 2025
"No, no, you needn't go," said Raphael, getting red. Pinchas grinned as one who knew better, and struck a match to rekindle a stump of cigar. "No, no, I go write my lecture oh it vill be a great lecture. You vill announce it in the paper! You vill not leave it out like Sampson left out my article last week." He was at the door now, with his finger alongside his nose.
The piece was billed widely in several streets under the title of "The Hornet of Judah," and the name of Melchitsedek Pinchas appeared in letters of the size stipulated by the finger on the nose.
"No, don't stop me, Pinchas," said Gabriel Hamburg. "I'm packing up, and I shall spend my Passover in Stockholm. The Chief Rabbi there has discovered a manuscript which I am anxious to see, and as I have saved up a little money I shall speed thither." "Ah, he pays well, that boy-fool, Raphael Leon," said Pinchas, emitting a lazy ring of smoke. "What do you mean?" cried Gabriel, flushing angrily.
'I'll drown her truly before I let her play my "Ophelia," said the poet venomously. Radsikoff shrugged his shoulders and dropped into American. 'Well, it's up to you. 'The minx! Pinchas shook his fist at the air. 'But I'll manage her. If the worst comes to the worst, I'll make love to her. The poet's sublime confidence in his charms was too much even for his admirers.
"I did not see you in Shool this morning, though it was the New Moon." "No, I went to the Great Shool," said Pinchas in German. "If you do not see me at your place you may be sure I'm somewhere else. Any one who has lived so long as I in the Land of Israel cannot bear to pray without a quorum. In the Holy Land I used to learn for an hour in the Shool every morning before the service began.
"I've had to send Pinchas to the Museum in a deuce of a hurry, to find out about his early life. I'm awfully upset about it, and what makes it worse is a telegram from Goldsmith, ordering a page obituary at least with black rules, besides a leader. It's simply sickening.
"Yes, but it won't be javelins the people will throw," murmured Hamburg, adding aloud: "I suppose you have written the music of this overture." "No, I cannot write music," said Pinchas. "Good heavens! You don't say so?" gasped Gabriel Hamburg. "Let that be my last recollection of you! No! Don't say another word! Don't spoil it! Good-bye." And he tore himself away, leaving the poet bewildered.
"This is only half the paper," he said evasively. "Ha, then it vill appear in the other half, hein?" he said with hope tempered by a terrible suspicion. "N n o," stammered Raphael timidly. "No?" shrieked Pinchas. "You see the fact is, it wouldn't scan. Your Hebrew poetry is perfect, but English poetry is made rather differently and I've been too busy to correct it."
Hannah took advantage of a pause in their conversation to say in German: "I am so glad, father, thou didst not bring that man home." "What man?" said Reb Shemuel. "The dirty monkey-faced little man who talks so much." The Reb considered. "I know none such." "Pinchas she means," said her mother. "The poet!" Reb Shemuel looked at her gravely. This did not sound promising.
And the Heathen Journalist who had discovered it felt, as so often before, that here alone in this arid, mushroom New York was antiquity, was restfulness, was romanticism; here was the Latin Quarter of the city of the Goths. Encouraged by the Master's good humour, young Mieses timidly exhibited his new verses. Pinchas read the manuscript aloud to the confusion of the blushing boy.
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