As to his hearers, he was overjoyed with them. When he saw that the workmen began to take interest in every book that was brought them to be bound, he smiled happily, and his eyes sparkled with delight.
And if it happened to be a book treating of the subjects on which they had heard something from Reb Shloimeh, they threw themselves upon it, nearly tore it to pieces, and all but came to blows as to who should have the binding of it.
Reb Shloimeh began to feel that he was doing something, that he was being really useful, and he was supremely happy.
The town, of course, was aware of Reb Shloimeh's constant visits to the bookbinder's, and quickly found out what he did there.
"He's just off his head!" they laughed, and shrugged their shoulders. They even laughed in Reb Shloimeh's face, but he took no notice of it.
His pleasure, however, came to a speedy end. One day the binder spoke out.
"Reb Shloimeh," he said shortly, "you prevent us from working with your stories. What do you mean by it? You come and interfere with the work."
"But do I disturb?" he asked. "They go on working all the time——"
"And a pretty way of working," answered the bookbinder. "The boys are ready enough at finding an excuse for idling as it is! And why do you choose me? There are plenty of other workshops——"
It was an honest "neck and crop" business, and there was nothing left for Reb Shloimeh but to take up his stick and go.