the level of
the earth. The most respectable householder often got it hot from him.
"It is better for you not to start with me," he said. "I have no time to
talk to you. There are a lot of you, and I am only one--may no evil eye
harm me!" And nobody began with him. They were glad that he did not
begin with them.

Naturally, no one would dream of asking Isshur what became of the money
donated to the synagogue, or of the money he got for the candles, and
the money thrown into the collection boxes. Nor did they ask him any
other questions relating to the management of the synagogue. He was the
master of the whole concern. And whom was he to give an account to? The
people were glad if he left them alone, and that he did not throw the
keys into their faces. "Here, keep this place going yourselves. Provide
it with wood and water, candles and matches. The towels must be kept
clean. A slate has to be put on the roof frequently, and the walls and
ceiling have to be whitewashed. The stands have to be repaired, and the
books bought. And what about the '_Chanukali_' lamp? And what of the
palm-branch and the citron? And where is this, and where is that?" And
though every one knew that all the things he mentioned not only did not
mean an outlay of money, but were, on the contrary, a source of income,
yet no one dared interfere. All these belonged to the beadle. They
were his means of livelihood. "The fine salary I get from you! One's
head might grow hard on it. It's only enough for the water for the
porridge," said Isshur. And the people were silent.

The people were silent, though they knew very well that "_Reb_" Isshur
was saving money. They knew very well he had plenty of money. It was
possible he even lent out money on interest, in secret, on good
securities, of course. He had a little house of his own, and a garden,
and a cow. And he drank a good glassful of brandy every day. In the
winter he wore the best fur coat. His wife always wore good boots
without holes. She made herself a new cloak not long ago, out of the
public money. "May she suffer through it for our blood, Father in
heaven!"

That's what the villagers muttered softly through their teeth, so that
the beadle might not hear them. When he approached, they broke off and
spoke of something else. They blinked their eyes, breathed hard, and
took from the beadle a pinch of snuff with their two fingers. "Excuse
me."

This "excuse me" was a nasty "excuse me." It was mea