Fanny
found him fascinating to look on, in his rabbinical black
broadcloth and his two pairs of glasses perched, in reading,
upon his small hooked nose. He stood very straight in the
pulpit, but on the street you saw that his back was bent
just the least bit in the world--or perhaps it was only his
student stoop, as he walked along with his eyes on the
ground, smoking those slender, dapper, pale brown cigars
that looked as if they had been expressly cut and rolled to
fit him.
The evening service was at seven. The congregation,
rustling in silks, was approaching the little temple from
all directions. Inside, there was a low-toned buzz of
conversation. The Brandeis' seat was well toward the rear,
as befitted a less prosperous member of the rich little
congregation. This enabled them to get a complete picture
of the room in its holiday splendor. Fanny drank it in
eagerly, her dark eyes soft and luminous. The bare, yellow-
varnished wooden pews glowed with the reflection from the
chandeliers. The seven-branched candlesticks on either side
of the pulpit were entwined with smilax.
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