. . . . .
The heathens, insolent ones, fearless ones, devils and wretches burrowed so long, and worked so hard to overthrow Isshur, that they succeeded in arriving at a certain road. Early one morning they climbed into the attic of the synagogue. There they found the whole treasure—a pile of candles, several "poods" of wax, a score of new "Tallissim," a bundle of prayer-books of different sorts that had never been used. It may be that to you these things would not have been of great value, but to a beadle they were worth a great deal. This treasure was taken down from the attic very ceremoniously. I will let you imagine the picture for yourself. On the one hand, Isshur with the big nose, terrifying eyebrows, and the beard of brass that started thick and heavy, and finished up with a few thin terrifying hairs. On the other hand, the young heathens, insolent ones, fearless ones, devils and wretches dragging out his treasure. But you need not imagine Isshur lost himself. He was not of the people that lose themselves for the least thing. He stood looking on, pretending to be puzzling himself with the question of how these things came to be in the attic of the synagogue.
Early next morning, the following announcement was written in chalk on the door of the synagogue:—
"Memorial candles are sold here at wholesale price."
Next day there was a different inscription. On the third day still another one. Isshur had something to do. Every morning he rubbed out with a wet rag the inscriptions that covered the whole of the door of the synagogue. Every Sabbath morning, on their desks the congregants found bundles of letters, in which the youngsters accused the beadle and his bought-over committee-men of many things.
Isshur had a hard time of it. He got the committee-men to issue a proclamation in big letters, on parchment.
"Hear all! As there have arisen in our midst a band of hooligans, scamps, good-for-nothings who are making false accusations against the most respected householders of the village, therefore we, the leaders of the community, warn these false accusers openly that we most strongly condemn their falsehoods, and if we catch any of them, we will punish him with all the severities of the law."
Of course, the boys at once tore down this proclamation. A second was hung in its place. The boys did not hesitate to hang up a proclamation of their own in its stead. And the men found on their desks fresh letters of accusation against the beadle and the committee-men. In a word, it was a period when the people did nothing else but write. The committee-men wrote proclamations, and the boys, the scamps, wrote letters. This went on until the Days of Mourning arrived—the time of the elections. And there began a struggle between the two factions. On the one side there was Isshur and his patrons, the committee-men; and on the other side, the youngsters, the heathens, the scamps, and their candidates. Each faction tried to attract the most followers by every means in its power. One faction tried impassioned words, enflamed speeches; the other, soft words, roast ducks, dainties, and liberal promises. And just think who won? You will never guess. It was we young scamps who won. And we selected our own committee-men from amongst ourselves—young men with short coats, poor men, beggars. It is a shame to tell it, but we chose working men—ordinary working men.
. . . . .
I am afraid you are anxious for my story to come to an end. You want to know how long it is going to last? Or would you rather I told you how our new committee-men made up their accounts with the old beadle? Do you want to hear how the poor old beadle was dragged through the whole village by the youngsters, with shouting and singing? The boys carried in front of the procession the whole treasure of candles, wax, "Tallissim" and prayer-books which they had found in the attic of the synagogue. No, I don't think you will expect me to tell you of these happenings.