The Day the Rabbi Resigned by Harry Kemelman Page A

Cadillac by just going up to visit Forest Park, the new vacation homesite. We don’t seem to get any regular mail anymore.”
    â€œIt could be,” the rabbi agreed. “I remember in my course in Economics there was a theory—no, it was a law, Gresham’s Law, that’s it—that said bad money drives out good money. So maybe junk mail drives out good mail.”
    â€œOh, here’s one from the University of Chicago,” said Miriam, who had continued to slit envelopes. “It must be from Simcha.”
    She handed it to the rabbi and he read it aloud for her benefit.
    â€œDear David:
    Unless something comes up to prevent it, I shall be in your area in early June for the meeting of the Anthropological Society. The first session is on Monday, June eleventh. The next day I am to receive the Dreyfus Medal and read a paper. I will be coming in the week before, on Friday, June first, because I have to attend a wedding in Gloucester on the second. It is the granddaughter of Martha’s sister Sarah, the unpleasant one. So why do I have to go? Because according to Martha, if Sarah hears that I was in the area and did not come to her granddaughter’s wedding, she will be indignant and be even more unpleasant than she usually is and cause all sorts of ill-feeling in the family. And how will she know that I was in the area? Because I will be receiving the Dreyfus Medal and Martha is sure it will be in the newspapers.
    â€œMartha will not accompany me; I will be coming alone. Ellen is going into the hospital for a hysterectomy. Nothing serious, I am assured, but requiring a stay in the hospital for a week or ten days. So Martha will be taking care of Ellen’s children for that week, which lets her off the hook for the wedding.
    â€œI note, by checking the map of your state, that Gloucester is only about thirty or forty miles from Barnard’s Crossing. So you could easily drive up there Sunday morning and we could spend the day together.
    â€œI have been making inquiries about your little problem from various knowledgeable people around here, and perhaps I can be of some help to you. In any case, hold June third open and let’s get together.
    â€œRegards to Miriam—all the best, Simcha. “P.S. I’ll call you from Gloucester to make specific arrangements.”
    â€œOh David, do you think he knows of a job for you?”
    Her husband shook his head. “It doesn’t sound like it. I think he would have said so if he had anything definite. He’s probably got the names of a few colleges that have Judaica departments, and perhaps some rumors of some people in those departments who might be leaving or retiring.”
    â€œBut suppose he did have a job for you, wouldn’t it be apt to be somewhere in the Midwest? Would you want to leave New England?”
    â€œWell, I’d have to think hard about it, and it would have to be a pretty good job. But it makes no difference; I’d like to see Simcha anyway. I don’t like the idea of driving all the way up to Gloucester—”
    â€œIt’s only about thirty miles, less than an hour, and on a Sunday morning there’s not likely to be much traffic.”
    â€œUnless it’s a sunny day. Tell you what, Miriam, why don’t you inquire around and find out about train or bus service. Maybe there’s a bus that runs between Gloucester and Barnard’s Crossing, or a train from Gloucester that stops at the Swampscott station. Then when he calls, I can suggest that he take one or the other here instead of my going up there to pick him up.”

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    From the time of his appointment, Mark Levine had been conscientious in attending the meetings of the Board of Trustees of Windermere College. Not that he was particularly interested in the college, but because it gave him an excuse to escape the boisterous optimism of his associates in Texas for the quieter charms of Boston. He would arrive