"Eleven soferens now," he
cried to his wife. "That's grand! Makes twenty-one the first six months
of the wedded life."
"It reflects great credit on you," said Millie, concealing her
unhappiness.
"Another eighty and I'd have an agency. Start a factory, p'raps. There's
John Daniel. He purchases an house. Ten hands he has working gents'
shirts for him."
Millie turned away her face and demanded from God strength with which to
acquaint her husband of her misfortune. What she asked for was granted
unto her at her husband's amorous moment of the Sabbath morning.
Hugh's passion deadened, and in his agony he sweated.
"They're gone! Every soferen," he cried. "They can't all have gone. The
whole ten." He opened his eyes widely. "Woe is me. Dear me. Dear me."
Until day dimmed and night grayed did they two search, neither of them
eating and neither of them discovering the treasure.
Therefore Hugh had not peace nor quietness. Grief he uttered with his
tongue, arms, and feet, and it was in the crease of his garments. He
sought sympathy and instruction from those with whom he traded. "All the
steam is gone out of me," he wailed.
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