Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-07-10

~ fisch?" asked pathetic little
voice from one corner OF the
kitchen
Why? You isk vhy?" came a de-
risiNe voice from the dining room
who ISIS going to mex it. if you
dont?"
chop! Chop! chop,
Why did you = let der cook so,
DEM" the voice in the kitchen
ventured.
Isk me, Isk me- cried the voice
from the dining room.
But the voice in the kitchen didn't
ask
Isaac Cohen, successful Eighth
avenue jeweler. continued his task
OF chopping cnopping. choppins.
Fish. meat. Meat. fish.
Chop. Chop, Chop,
1t seemed an endless task, this
chopping OF the stuffing for Fridays
dish
Now and then Isaac Cohen would
look through his thick, horn-rimmCd
spectacles toward the dining room
door. as he chopped away on the
smooth, white board.
He was Il little fellow. One had
to look twice to realize just how little
he was. He wore closely cropped
whiskers. cut in fancy style on his
chin. His eyes We're large and brown
and twinkled with good humor.
lie was in his shirt sleeves and
around his neck was swathed several,
yards OF bandage, covered over with
a turkish towel. His chest smarted
from the goose-grease preparation his
wife had applied early that morning.
He was sleepy, and now and then
he had to catch himself as his eyelids
dropped. He had gotten to bed at
late hour and with terrific cold in
his chest.
Isaac Cohen was very much in love
with his wife. He had married her
ten years ago. She had been pretty
then, and not so fat. She was still
pretty, after a fashion-a remarkable
Oriental type. buxom and comfort.
able looking.
Isaac Cohen. unlike Solomon Levy,
his best friend, had never known the
bitterness Of adversely. Always he
had been lucky-carefree and happy.
America to him had been the real
Land Of Promise. Fortune had come
his way. and with slight effort on
his part.
His Russian parents were safe in
Germany. and, he supported them.
They had managed to flee from Rus.
STA during the days of persecution.
During the 10 years of their mar.
ried life the Cohens had had no chill
dren. Each secretly blamed the other. |
But this fact had in a way drawn
them closer to each other, while on
the surface they manifested it by
continual quarreling Even in public |
they kept up their fighting. but their |
friends paid little attention to this. for |
they knew how dear each was to the |
other
1t had been many years since Isaac |
Cohen had been forced to chop the |
stufflng for gefulderfisch. He had long
since passed the stage where it is !
made on the seat of the old kitchen
chair.
They were we'll to do now and had
servants. But yesterday Mrs. Cohen
had had an argument with the cook
and had peremptorily dismissed her.
Now Thursday was here and the
usual Friday dish unmade. 1t was up
to Isaac.
The last few hours had not treated
Isaac kindly. The thermometer had
registered 10 degrees below zero at
o'clock that morning. and Isaac had
stayed late at his store, supervising
the taking of inventory, He had left
at midnight. and on the way home he
l
as such things are apt to. Leaving
the store. he had run into his friend,
Sol Stern, who owned clothing store
a few doors distant. Sol. too, had
stayed late, working.
Sol Stern was a heavy-set, aggres.
sive man. His nose was broad and his
lips thick. He was much given to
argument, trait by no means lack
ing in Isaac Cohen.
Isaac, In fact, was apt to be talka.
tive and cocky when away from home,
where he scarcely ever had chance
to speak his mind.
So after the usual greeting the two
friends had started down the street
together. A bitter wind whipped up
Eighth avenue. The two men spoke
they game to the parting of the ways
But they stopped to talk. A great
problem had been propounded.
In the newspapers that day there
had been some discussion about the
salary of the President of the United
States
'Oi, OF, oir' calculated Isaac Cohen.
'He gets $4,000 a year!'
He does" said the other, IAN
what can he did With so much
money!"
what can he?
well, he has to educate his chill
dren."
''Tsch, watts dot amount to-
"He gets $4,000 year,"
"Rint," shouted Isaac Cohen. DE
President pay rint?"
HE must hat big rint."
'No President pays rint. He Ifs in
de White House. De Government gifts
him his rint free"
YEAH"
Yeah
"Vell, what can de do with so much
money? Seventy.f' tousand dollars a
year! Ach"
Maybe he safes it,
mo, no President safes. Dom you
rid every day where some Presidents
widow is broke?"
True"
CTomorrow-En Engagement With