"Ephraim, my son," he began, in a kindly, almost cheerful tone, "you've
grown into a splendid business man, as good a business man as one can
meet with between this and Vienna. I'm sure of it. But I must give you
one bit of advice; it's worth a hundred pounds to one in your position.
Never leave a key in the lock of a bureau!"

Ephraim looked at his father as though stupefied. Was the man mad or
delirious to talk in such a strain? At that moment, from the extreme end
of the Ghetto, there sounded the three knocks, summoning the people to
evening prayer. As in the morning, so again now the sound seemed to stun
the vigorous man. His face blanched and assumed an expression of terror;
he trembled from head to foot. Then again he cast a frightened glance
in the direction of the window.

"Nothing but knocking, knocking!" he muttered. "They would like to knock
the most hidden thoughts out of one's brains, if they only could. What
makes them do it, I should like to know?...To the clanging of a bell you
can, at all events, shut your ears, you need only place your hands to
them...but with that hammer they bang at every confounded door, and
drive one crazy. Who gives them the right to do it, I should like to
know?" He stood still listening.

"Do you think he will be long before he reaches here?" he asked Ephraim,
in a frightened voice.

"Who, father?"

"The watch."

"He has already knocked next door but one."