a darkness began to overhang the destinies of britain. three defeats in one week!

'it is humiliating,' said s. cohn, clenching his fist.

'it makes a miserable christmas,' said mrs. cohn gloomily. although her spouse still set his face against the christmas pudding which had invaded so many anglo-jewish homes, the festival, with its shop-window flamboyance, entered far more vividly into his consciousness than the jewish holidays, which produced no impression on the life of the streets.

the darkness grew denser. young men began to enlist for the front: the city formed a new regiment of imperial volunteers. s. cohn gave his foreign houses large orders for khaki trouserings. he sent out several parcels of clothing to the seat of war, and [57]had the same duly recorded in his favourite christian newspaper, whence it was copied into his favourite jewish weekly, which was, if possible, still more chauvinist, and had a full-page portrait of sir asher aaronsberg, m.p. for middleton, who was equipping a local corps at his own expense. gradually s. cohn became aware that the military fever of which he read in both his organs was infecting his clothing emporium—that his own counter-jumpers were in heats of adventurous resolve. the military microbes must have lain thick in the khaki they handled. at any rate, s. cohn, always quick to catch the contagion of the correct thing, announced that he would present a bonus to all who went out to fight for their country, and that he would keep their places open for their return. the saturday this patriotic offer was recorded in his newspaper—'on inquiry at s. cohn's, the great clothing purveyor of the holloway road, our representative was informed that no less than five of the young men were taking advantage of their employer's enthusiasm for england and the empire'—the already puffed-up solomon had the honour of being called to read in the law, and first as befitted the sons of aaron. it was a man restored almost to his provincial pride who recited the ancient benediction; 'blessed art thou, o lord our god, who hast chosen us from among all peoples and given to us his law.'

but there was a drop of vinegar in the cup.

'and why wasn't simon in synagogue?' he inquired of his wife, as she came down the gallery stairs to meet her lord in the lobby, where the congregants loitered to chat.

[58]'do i know?' murmured mrs. cohn, flushing beneath her veil.

'when i left the house he said he was coming on.'

'he didn't know you were to be "called up."'

'it isn't that, hannah,' he grumbled. 'think of the beautiful war-sermon he missed. in these dark days we should be thinking of our country, not of our pleasures.' and he drew her angrily without, where the brightly-dressed worshippers, lingeringly exchanging eulogiums on the 'rule britannia' sermon, made an oriental splotch of colour on the wintry pavement.