They sat a little while, couldn't think of anything to say, and got up from their seats. Then they stood a bit, wished him a speedy return to health, and went away, without hearing any answer from Reb Shloimeh to their "good night." It was not long before the whole town knew of the visit, and it began to boil like a kettle. To commit such sin is to play with destiny. Once you are in, there is no getting out! Give the devil a hair, and he'll snatch at the whole beard. So when Reb Shloimeh showed himself in the street, they stared at him and shook their heads, as though to say, "Such a man--and gone to ruin!" Reb Shloimeh saw it, and it cut him to the heart. Indeed, it brought the tears to his eyes, and he began to walk quicker in the direction of the bookbinder's. At the bookbinder's they received him in friendly fashion, with a hearty "Welcome!" but he fancied that here also they looked at him askance, and therefore he gave a reason for his coming. "Walking is hard work," he said, "one must have stopping-places." With this same excuse he went there every day. He would sit for an hour or two, talking, telling stories, and at last he began to tell the "stories" which the teacher had told. He sat in the centre of the room, and talked away merrily, with a pun here and a laugh there, and interested the workmen deeply. Sometimes they would all of one accord stop working, open their mouths, fix their eyes, and hang on his lips with an intelligent smile. Or else they stood for a few minutes tense, motionless as statues, till Reb Shloimeh finished, before the master should interpose. "Work, work--you will hear it all in time!" he would say, in a cross, dissatisfied tone. And the workmen would unwillingly bend their backs once more over their task, but Reb Shloimeh remained a little thrown out. He lost the thread of what he was telling, began buttoning and unbuttoning his coat, and glanced guiltily at the binder. But he went his own way nevertheless. As to his hearers, he was overjoyed with them. When he saw that the workmen began to take interest in every book that was brought them to be bound, he smiled happily, and his eyes sparkled with delight. And if it happened to be a book treating of the subjects on which they had heard something from Reb Shloimeh, they threw themselves upon it, nearly tore it to pieces, and all but came to blows as to who should have the binding of it. Reb Shloimeh began to feel that he was doing something, that he was being really useful, and he was supremely happy. The town, of course, was aware of Reb Shloimeh's constant visits to the bookbinder's, and quickly found out what he did there. "He's just off his head!" they laughed, and shrugged their shoulders. They even laughed in Reb Shloimeh's face, but he took no notice of it. His pleasure, however, came to a speedy end. One day the binder spoke out.