The Seven-Branched Candlestick: The Schooldays of Young American Jew

of which boyhood has-and which it loses-and put it into the lines of the recital that is now due. Because, then, perhaps,

ning devotion that could come fresh from a boy-heart which had never yet given itself to friendship. Steerforth was a villain; but in

e commandant for his good services. I have told you, he was tall, fair-haired, with locks tha

school "freaks," to counsel them, to drill them privately, so that they should be more proficient on parade. He used t

f sunset colors over the hills and mirrored in the darkling stretch of the Hudson. And sometimes, when the story would not give us respite, he would smuggle the book up into the dormitory-and when all wa

magine that he was that fine, attractive fellow-and that I,

iendship had made such a brave point of telling me that they didn't mind my being a Jew-that there were just as many good Jews as there were bad ones-and all those other stupid and inevitable rema

r on long walks through the country. Sydney taught me to smoke cigarettes, and we

t his little card table in the dark, untidy rear, playing solitaire;

t went on in the town at the river's edge or in the big city, fifty-odd miles away. But there was something pathetic about her position-and when Sydney made it mor

th a light in those big eyes of hers that I had never seen before in any woman's. She left her counter, once, and walked all the way home with us; and I saw, in the blue of the gloaming, that her hand was tightly clasped in Sydney's, and that he whispered things to her under his breath, as soon as I was gon

the hall when leaving and arriving back. He needed never to give account of what he did "off bounds." It was an easy matter for him-and there were many times, now,

lse had come between my friend and me. I was jealous of all the time he spent with her, of the hour

ould happen. Not that I knew what might happen. I was still very young-but I felt the chill foreboding of tragedy lurking somewhere in the background of it all. The dingy little shop, with its flyspecked glass cases and its dusty rows of

tumbled my way home alone, l

k to him of it. But the words would not form themselves suitably, a

lilacs was heavy in the air, Sydney sent for me. He was officer-of-the-day, today, and could not leave the pr

mean to say, you've been meeting her

ed sash which the officer-of-the-day wears about h

er. You'll have to sneak off bounds-but I'll see you d

go back on me, will you? I've been a good friend to you and done you l

derstand, Sydney," I sa

what i

t's the

coldness I had never seen before. "Don't worry

he burst out: "Hurry u

te. Then I felt my face flush

y best friend-my only frie

denounce him and curse him. I felt betrayed, degraded as I ha

rely saluted and set

ndred yards, to the store. There was a dim blue light in one of its windows, and I crept up

She could not see me in the darkness outside-not even when she turned her head and gave me a full view of her face,

r and the appeal of her thin, tragic little body sent me hurrying b

almost in its entirety, the scheme he was laying-and the climax which was fast approaching. And, after having seen her, as I did last night, I knew that I could never

r of us, in fact. He tried to speak to me-perhaps he was going to apologize to me for having called me a Jew-I do not know. But, though I

rforth, too,

was long too late that Sydney had disappeared. When his body was recov

shadow over us all-and we were but children. His empty bed, his dress uniform tossed carelessly over the back of a chair, the k

ak in the quadrangle, thought of many things: of the walks we had taken, of the hundred smiling adventures we had shar

perhaps, in those few minutes he would have reached out his hand to me, and begged forgiveness for having called me what he did-perh

store, I found it closed. The cracked shades were down before the windows, and a "For Sale" sign was o

avid Copperfield" from under my pillow, and put it back in