r took no notice of his
anger.

"Two hundred years ago," began the teacher, "there lived, in England, a
celebrated naturalist and mathematician, Isaac Newton. It was told of
him that when God said, Let there be light, Newton was born."

"Psh! I should think, very likely!" broke in Reb Shloimeh. "Why not?"

The teacher pursued his way, and gave an explanation of spectral
analysis. He spoke at some length, and Reb Shloimeh sat and listened
with close attention. "Now do you understand?" asked the teacher, coming
to an end.

Reb Shloimeh made no reply, he only looked up from under his brows.

The teacher went on:

"The earth," he said, "has stood for many years. Their exact number is
not known, but calculation brings it to several million--"

"E," burst in the old man, "I should like to know what next! I thought
everyone knew _that_--that even _they_--"

"Wait a bit, Reb Shloimeh," interrupted the teacher, "I will explain
directly."

"Ma! It makes me sick to hear you," was the irate reply, and Reb
Shloimeh got up and left the room.

* * * * *

All that day Reb Shloimeh was in a bad temper, and went about with
knitted brows. He was angry with science, with the teacher, with
himself, because he must needs have listened to it all.

"Chatter and foolishness! And there I sit and listen to it!" he said to
himself with chagrin. But he remembered the "chatter," something begins
to weigh on his heart and brain, he would like to find a something to
catch hold of, a proof of the vanity and emptiness of their teaching, to
invent some hard question, and stick out a long red tongue at them
all--those nowadays barbarians, those nowadays Newtons.

"After all, it's mere child's play," he reflects. "It's ridiculous to
take their nonsense to heart."

"Only their proofs, their proofs!" and the feeling of helplessness comes
over him once more.

"Ma!" He pulls himself together. "Is it all over with us? Is it all up?!
All up?! The earth revolves! Gammon! As to their explanations--very
wonderful, to be sure! O, of course, it's all of the greatest
importance! Dear me, yes!"

He is very angry, tears the buttons off his coat, puts his hat straight
on his head, and spits.

"Apostates, nothing but apostates nowadays," he concludes. Then he
remembers the teacher--with what enthusiasm he spoke!

His explanations ring in Reb Shloimeh's head, and prove things, and once
more the old gentleman is perplex