In Quest of Moshiach
HE moonless sky was all aglitter with multitudes of stars and the face of the river heaved with trembling bands of white and yellow light. The swift rushing of the river past the piles and barges was heard below the edge of the wharf, where sat, huddled toand little Davy. From the little park em, the voices of young and old, the gs, and the muffled rumbling of an oc- le reached them in a half-unreal haze of d. On the wharf not far behind them ancholy tones of a Russian melody sung ussia's exiled children,
"And did little Rebi say," whispered Reuby "when will come Moshiach?"
"He might to come any day," little Davy whispered back. "He's only waiting and waiting till all the Jews'll be good and pious."
On the river in the distance there suddenly appeared, glorious and fairy-like, a vision of light. It blazed from the three decks of the excursion-steamer, speeding away to regions of bliss, and shimmered on the answering waters. Several broken strains of music arose in the night to lose themselves among the stars.
"And what'll he do first of all when he comes, Davy?"
"Ooh, Reuby, dontche know?" said little Davy dreamily, his eyes fixed on the dwindling vision of the boat in the distance. Suddenly the sound of the boat's siren, far away and prolonged, reached their ears.
"Well!" urged Reuby.
"First of all," Davy began, "he'll stand up and blow his horn so all the bad ones'll be frightened and they'll all die, and all the good ones'll be glad. Next of all, all the good ones in the cemeteries will stand up from their graves. And then, little Rebi says, Moshiach will build one bridge all out of paper and another one all out of iron. And the good ones'll come over by the paper bridge all safe and happy, and the bad ones'll try to come over by the iron bridge, but it'll break under 'em and they'll fall in and be drownded."
"I'd have afraid to go on the paper bridge, Davy."
"Oh Reuby you're a bad one sure," and little Davy shook his head gloomily.
"No, I aint," Reuby protested, "didn't I knock Looky's tooth out for calling little Rebi names? Only why couldn't we get the iron bridge Davy; it's better'n paper any time, believe me."
"No, no Reuby, you don't understand" sighed Davy, watching the last beams from the steamer fade in the darkness.
"Davy," whispered his friend "where'll they come to when they cross the bridge?"
"To Jerusalem," was the answer, "and everybody'll sit down an' eat only honey and drink only milk."
Reuby gave a big gulp.
You know, Davy, he ought to hurry up. There's such a lot o' Jews go hungry these days—little Rebi, even."
"Little Rebi says he ought to be coming these days. Nobody knows, he might to come to-morrow if he wants to."
"And what'll he look like, Davy?"
"Like a king, says little Rebi. Tall and strong, with his eyes all shining and his hair black and long."
"Like Samson who killed all the Philistines, eh Davy?"
The singers of mournful Russian melodies had departed, and the sounds from the park were growing fainter and fainter. The water swished dreamily against the piles and barges below the wharf where sat the two little comrades.
Suddenly a heavy step was heard and the light of a lantern jumped out of the darkness. Simultaneously, a gruff voice rang out:
"Ye still here, ye haithen brats,—Git, or I'll braik yer shins for yer!"
Reuby and Davy jumped up and ran down the wharf. Before departing, however, they turned and hooted at the night watchman.
"Mugsy McGoo-ook! Mugsy McGoo-ook!" they cried; and then having assured themselves of the desired effect from the threatening growl that came in reply, they fixed the time and place for their morrow's meeting and disappeared in the maze of narrow streets.
II
On the morrow, the midsummer sun sparkled on the face of the river and made glorious even the aspect of the few scraggy trees and sparse patches of grass that went by the name of Waterside Park. At the further end of the park, away from the river rose the tenements, the windows and fire-escapes displaying an array of linen and bedding dazzling in the sunlight. There was a ring of gladness in the shrilling of the sirens, the clatter of trucks and the rhythmic calls of a band of longshoremen at work on the wharf.
Along one of the sun-heated walks of the park strolled little Davy and Reuby, both fresh from a swim, their faces and bare legs absurdly clean, their matted hair still wet, swinging their tights above their heads by the strings, "dead-rat" fashion.
"Davy" said Reuby, "Did you hear about it? The fellers say there is a new crazy come to the park and hanging around. There's gonna be lots o' fun."
"Little Rebi says it's a sin to have fun with the crazies" declared Davy. "Sometimes a crazy is a great Zaddik, only people don't believe him."
"There's been a lot of 'em coming aroun' the park, just the same, Davy. First of all they come, and stay aroun' an' next they go away an' nobody knows where. The fellers say the cops take 'em away and put 'em in the bughouse."
"That's because the fellers don't leave 'em alone.They oughta have more pity on 'em, that's what."
At this point the two friends broke off their conversation and started at a run towards one of the benches around which a group of urchins were assembled. The group was in constant motion and to judge by the variety of sounds that emanated from it, something interesting and joyful was in progress.
"What's the matter?" asked the friends as they arrived.
"The new crazy!" came the delighted answer.
On the bench and forming the center of the group