"There were blows exchanged at the meeting."

"Good blows for once."

"Oh, Jews, I am a poor man."

"A poor man for once."

And so of everything.

Moshe was a---- I cannot tell you what Moshe was. He was a Jew, but what
he lived by it would be hard to say. He lived as many thousands of Jews
live in Kassrillevka--tens of thousands. He hovered around the overlord.
That is, not the overlord himself, but the gentlefolks that were with
the overlord. And not around the gentlefolks themselves, but around the
Jews that hovered around the gentlefolks who were with the overlord. And
if he made a living--that was another story. Moshe-for-once was a man
who hated to boast of his good fortune, or to bemoan his ill-fortune. He
was always jolly. His cheeks were always red. One end of his moustache
was longer than the other. His hat was always on one side of his head;
and his eyes were always smiling and kindly. He never had any time, but
was always ready to walk ten miles to do any one a favour.

That's the sort of a man Moshe-for-once was.

* * *

There wasn't a thing in the world Moshe-for-once could not make--a
house, or a clock, or a machine, a lamp, a spinning-top, a tap, a
mirror, a cage, and what not.

True, no one could point to the houses, the clocks, or the machines that
came from his hands; but every one was satisfied Moshe could make them.
Every one said that if need be, Moshe could turn the world upside down.
The misfortune was that he had no tools. I mean the contrary. That was
his good fortune. Through this, the world was not turned upside down.
That is, the world remained a world.

That Moshe was not torn to pieces was a miracle. When a lock went wrong
they came to Moshe. When the clock stopped, or the tap of the
"_Samovar_" went out of order, or there appeared in a house
blackbeetles, or bugs, or other filthy creatures, it was always Moshe
who was consulted. Or when a fox came and choked the fowls, whose advice
was asked? It was always and ever Moshe-for-once.

True, the broken lock was thrown away, the clock had to be sent to a
watchmaker, and the "_Samovar_" to the copper-smith. The blackbeetles,
and bugs and other filthy things were not at all frightened of Moshe.
And the fox went on doing what a fox ought to do. But Moshe-for-once
still remained the same Moshe-for-once he had been. After all, he had
blessed hands; and no doubt he had something in him. A world cannot be
mad. In proof of this--why