It was a good summer--a large number of foreigners had visited the
cemetery and were generous in their gifts.
"In the doorway appeared the thin face of the watchman, whose
short-sighted eyes began to look fixedly into the darkness.
"'Come out into the street, Joel, somebody wants to talk to you!'
"'O, God of Justice,' said the watchman with amazement, as he came
out of the door,--'One of the trustees! What is your pleasure to
command me?'
"'This Rabbi desires to make a brief prayer in the cemetery; he is
leaving to-morrow morning by train.'
"'In the cemetery? This evening? But you know yourself, Mr. Banker,
that I am forbidden to open the gates after sunset, and to-night is
also the holy Sabbath.'
"'First of all, there is no need for you to shout here about my
calling,' replied the banker, displeased. 'Every Jewish rag-picker
will know that banker Rosenberg was here to see you. As for the
permit to open the gates, I myself, as a trustee, authorize you to
do it. I will wait here until he has completed his prayer. The
company in your house must not know what we are doing here. Arrange
it so that the curious crowd will not rush in there.'
"The watchman disappeared in the house, but soon returned with a
bunch of keys and opened the gates of the cemetery. He took a
lantern along and was about to light it.
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