Saint Harvey would emit a long, tremulous sigh and close his eyes. Sometimes when Lem told of a Sunday dinner Saint Harvey would turn quite pale, and groan. Then he would get up and walk back and forth, gasping and swallowing and working his jaws and licking his lips. “I don't want all this sandwich. You can have it,” Lem would say sometimes. “You ought to be hungry; nothin' but bread an'--” “You get out o' here! You scoot out o' here!” his father would cry, reaching for something to use as a club, and then Lem would go. Nor was Lem the only trial the good saint had. The Russian Jew, Moses Shuder, would not leave him alone, and no one could anger good Saint Harvey as Shuder could. His very meekness angered Saint Harvey. Moses Shuder would come to the junkyard, meek and apologetic, dry-washing his hands against his chest, with his crushed hat on his head--the hat itself a reminder of Saint Harvey's anger--and plead with Harvey to sell him or lease him the junkyard. “Please, Misder Redink, I vant only to talk to you. Please, you should not get a mad at me-- “Why, dod--why, blame take--” Saint Harvey would begin furiously, only to remember himself in time, and force himself to calmness. “You go 'way from here! I don't want to talk to you! I don't want to sell! I don't want to lease--” “But, please, Misder Redink--” The meekly appealing eyes of his late rival made Harvey furious, inwardly. He longed to be able to cast aside all restraint and to dod-baste Moses Shuder with all his heart and all his soul. Moses Shuder was worse than a hair shirt or peas in his shoes. It was the meekness of Shuder, coming back so cringingly, day after day, that drove Saint Harvev to the edge of terrible outbursts of unsaintly temper. And Moses Shuder's eyes, which were like the meekly appealing eyes of Saint Harvey's stray dogs, reminded him of them. For the stray dogs were another thorn in the good saint's flesh. He was having a sad time being a Little Brother to Stray Dogs. Stray dogs did not like him. They hated him. Whenever they saw him, they looked up at him with meekly appealing eyes like Moses Shuder's and then bit him on the leg. Perhaps this was because before Saint Harvey became a saint he had hated stray dogs and thrown things at them, and the dogs recognized him as an ancient dog-hater. However that may be, they now greeted him, when he approached them, with a look that pleaded not to be given a beating, and then, as he approached, showed their fangs, growled and raised the hair along their spines, and jumped at his legs. He wished he had been advertised as a Little Brother to Stray Rabbits instead of to dogs.