Sometimes, when we were reading together, that glistening spot in
the center of the lid would fascinate my eye so that I lost track of
the subject in hand

He often hummed some liturgical melody of a well-known
synagogue chanter.

One afternoon he sang something to me, with his snuff-box for a
baton, and then asked me how I liked it

"I composed it myself," he explained, boastfully

I did not like the tune. In fact, I failed to make out any tune at all,
but I was overflowing with a desire to please him, so I said, with
feigned enthusiasm: "Did you really? Why, it's so beautiful, so
sweet!"

Reb Sender's face shone

After that he often submitted his compositions to me, though he
was too shy to sing them to older people. They were all supposed
to be liturgical tunes, or at least some "hop" for the Day of the
Rejoicing of the Law. When I hailed the newly composed air with
warm approval he would show his satisfaction either with
shamefaced reserve or with child-like exuberance.

If, on the other hand, I failed to conceal my indifference, he would
grow morose, and it would be some time before I succeeded in
coaxing him back to his usual good humor