The Denver Jewish news., 1919-02-26
The Sacrifice
BY special permission of Live Stories
BY Thrill GORDON
lConsinusd from last wcekl ]

y tContfnusd from last week
Better you should take the baby
upstairs now. Right away Papa comes
upstairs for supper
And you wouldn't forget: For
surc?'
Papa wouldn't forset.'
IN the low-ceilinged kitchen two
flights above the store, Debby deposit.
cd her burden in little wooden cradle
drawn close to the window
Her mother, tall, angular of form.
bent over the hot stove. her eyes on
the stcaming stew she kept stirring.
Wisps of dark. black hair fell about
her worn, sallow face; the high checks
were hollow, the dark eyes sunken, as
if bored by the brOoding light in
their depths. Her wrapper was open
at the throat, and the skirt was coy.
stage of wear. Like ominous sym
bols of poverty. her shoes. worn down
at the heel and patched at the toes,
protruded from beneath her fraycd
skirt
Lcthurgically Mrs. Greenberg turn.
ed mp the wick of the lamp on the
table. With her apron she frightened
up the nickel base. She struck light,
hazy outlines of the small, crowded
room.
Tie bare boards of the floor were
unpainted and discolored; the plaster
green cracked the ceiling above the
stove was black with SCOT. Stiff-back-
cd chairs, with the varnish long
scratched off, were drawn about the
rndc table set for the evening meal;
the high chiffopicr, with its tarnishcd
brass handles, was topped by massive
silver candIesticks, which, in the eyes
Of the Ghetto dweller. were auguries
stove row of European copper uten-
sils shot forth ruddy CLEANS.
Morris Greenberg's entrance was the
signal for II loud demonstration of
in from an adjoining room. His dark
curls were touslcd: his cheeks club.
by; his cotton rompers a few sizes too
large
I.aughingly Grccnherc caught the
youngster up in his. arms. tossed him
high. then set him down on his little
stout legs
Invested of his bespattered apron
and his STRAW cuffs, his derby replac-
ed by skull cap, Morris Grcenberg
performed his ahlutions, then seated
himself at the head of the table.
On one side of him sat Dcbby and
on the other sat the little fellow. With
a spoon clcnched in his tiny fist, ho
beat an imperative tattoo OIL the table.
his shrill voice raised in protest at
the delay in the meal.
Morris Greenbcrg. drew his plate to
linn, cying his wife speculatively. His
gaze shifted quizzically to his small
daughter. who plucked urgently at his
shirt sleeve. He cleared his throat,
then bent disapprovingly on the little
boy. who. with a final protesting
thunp. skunk back in his chair.
Again Norris Grcenbcrg cleared his
throat. His eyes crinkled kindly at
the corners.
"Chahna, | was thinking-it would
bc ncc-for you--for the children
when ] close the store at night if we
could have some music. How Dcbby
she would like it,
Mrs. Greenberg emptied the pot of
steaming stew into deep dish and
placed it before her husband.
He smiled at her engagingly.
"Such girl that Debby is" he
voucllsafed fondiy. Her teacher
everybody-tclls her liIc bird she
sings
THE violin. The violin = wills
percd Debby with strained anxiety.
Tell her FROM the violin
The lines ,leepencd about his eyes
and mouth. His jaws set sternly. as
If he wcrea braciBg himself for a stu
pcndpus move. With an effort he
forced his lips apart i'll a smile
"Clmnna, for long time l was
thinking how nice it would be to have
II violin. Remember my old violin J
had TO sell when we first came to
America: :. I could play-and my
self | could show Debby.'
Mrs. Greenberg looked UP with II
loud gasp. 1t vas her first indication
of interest since her husband began to
speak--the interest of one who scents
imminent danger.
"a VIOLIN Where have you got a
violin?" she rasped.
He laughed ncrvously. Yet - we