of a meal. And when the Rav comes to the fact
that to be in "prison" means to have bad habits, and "well-favored
woman" means that every bad habit has its good side, the guest can no
longer restrain himself, seizes the bottle rather awkwardly, as though
in haste, fills up his glass, spills a little onto the cloth, and drinks
with his head thrown back, gulping it like a regular tippler, after a
hoarse and sleepy "to your health." This has a bad effect on the Rav's
enthusiasm, it "mixes his brains," and he turns to his son for help. To
tell the truth, he has not much confidence in his son where the Law is
concerned, although he loves him dearly, the boy being the only one of
his children in whom he may hope, with God's help, to have comfort, and
who, a hundred years hence, shall take over from him the office of Rav
in Saken. The elder son is rich, but he is a usurer, and his riches give
the Rav no satisfaction whatever. He had had one daughter, but she died,
leaving some little orphans. Sholem is, therefore, the only one left
him. He has a good head, and is quick at his studies, a quiet,
well-behaved boy, a little obstinate, a bit opinionated, but that is no
harm in a boy, thinks the old man. True, too, that last week people told
him tales. Sholem, they said, read heretical books, and had been seen
carrying "burdens" on Sabbath. But this the father does not believe, he
will not and cannot believe it. Besides, Sholem is certain to have made
amends. If a Talmid-Chochem commit a sin by day, it should be forgotten
by nightfall, because a Talmid-Chochem makes amends, it says so in the
Gemoreh.

However, the Rav is ashamed to give his own exegesis of the Law before
his son, and he knows perfectly well that nothing will induce Sholem to
drive with him to the Rebbe.

But the stranger and his brandy-drinking have so upset him that he now
looks at his son in a piteous sort of way. "Hear me out, Sholem, what
harm can it do you?" says his look.

Sholem draws himself up, and pulls in his chair, supports his head with
both his hands, and gazes into his father's eyes out of filial duty. He
loves his father, but in his heart he wonders at him; it seems to him
his father ought to learn more about his heretical leanings--it is quite
time he should--and he continues to gaze in silence and in wonder, not
unmixed with compassion, and never ceases thinking, "Upon my word, Tate,
what a simpleton you are!"

But when the Rav came in the cours