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Newspaper Page Text
BY JENNIE C. SPIVAK.
T was a gloomy afternoon. The December sun , was hidden under a thick cover of black clouds, and a heavy rain was monotonously beating against the window-pane. My desk presented afair example of chaos; books lay open, in which I had searched in vain for enlightenment on my eclampia case. The fireplace, with its flickering embers, was the only thing that spread a warm cheerfulness in the room. Dizzy from loss of sleep, and exhausted from anxiety. I yielded to the desire of stretching my weary bones on the couch near the hearth. I closed my eyes and began to merge into a doze, but the woman with her I pupils and distorted face like an evil shadow vering near me. his semi-conscious sleep I became suddenly of some one knocking at my door. "Is she 1 yelled, and jumped up. But Mr. Dubinsky, s everlasting suspicious grin and melancholy lance, was eyeing me from head to foot. I re to my sofa, for I know Dubinsky will come in t an invitation, and it will take him some efore he makes up his mind to say what t him to me. I was lying on my couch, star :he ceiling and gaping for at least a quarter of r, while my guest, with his hat on, sat still statue. All at once he stirred, cleaied his i and said slowly, as if he coined each word he : "Could you let me have ten dollars for an ite time?" I at once handed him the sum he d, for I know well when Dubinsky asks for he is sorely in need of it. He took the money, his hat low on his forehead, and, mumbling a -bye" between his teeth, wanted to go. "You go now; wait until the rain is over," said I. ho is wet fears not the rain," he answered, in Russian proverb. In order to detain him I 'How many of you Russian fellows are to ite from old Jeff this year?" "Five," said Dv , with a grin, id how do they manage to bear the college ex ?" I put in again to keep up the conversation, tsha and Alexis work in Foster's shirt factory, a is a cigar-maker, Susha is a druggist, and ertni is paying his way through college from dges to which he belongs." "Bezsmertni —" ered myself of the horrid name —"is not the fcl ho looks as if he walked around to save funeral >es?" But Dubinsky did not seem to notice my tnd continued: have a lot to make up in my studies, and my , ill of late, so I gave up my work entirely." don't see how you poor devils manage to study ork for a living at the same time. It must be ard," said I, with a yawn, ard! I should think," said he, with another THE JEWISH SOUTH. fearful grin; and giving his hat a severe pull, said : "I must go," and left the room. Dubinsky's wife was a Russian midwife. She had learned of medicine just enough to create in her a great love for that science, and she longed to become a physician. This was ten years ago, while she yet lived in Russia. At the time when her ambition was at its height the Medical Institute for Women at St. Petersburg was closed. Her income from assisting the young into this world did not allow her to go to France or Switzerland, and she had to give up the idea of studying medicine for a time at least. At that time she met Dubinsky and fell in love with him. They soon married, and it was understood between them that she was to take up the study of medicine as soon as their means would permit. After two years of married life she began to fear that her fond est dream would never be realized. One day she received a letter from a school-mate who migrated to the United States, in which her friend gave a glowing description of the country and the facilities offered there for a higher education, and also informed her that she had graduated from a medical college. Her hope was rekindled. She com menced to urge Dubinsky to leave Russia. Dubinsky loved her dearly, and her will was law to him. They soon sailed for the land of the free. Since they came to America, which was eight years ago, they had suffered much. Two girls were born to them. Not withstanding their wretched condition, the idea of studying medicine had still remained the beacon light of her distant haven. However, the difficulties be came more numerous and less surmountable as time went on, and the realization of her idea receded into the infinite. She grew sad and dispirited. One day, while she was brooding over her vanished ideals, a thought settled in her mind which brought the glow of her old enthusiasm back to her pale cheeks. "I cannot study medicine myself. Why should not Du binsky take it up in my stead ? He is able and ener getic. I shall realize my dream through him. A day may come when I, at his side, will also embrace the beloved science." Dubinsky was then 33 years old, and to become a schoolboy at such an age and under such material disadvantages, was not an easy thing to do. But love made the course seem smooth, and he was soon as enthusiastic about the matter as herself. All ob stacles were overcome at last, and he matriculated. What joy she experienced in watching Dubinsky every morning go to college, meeting him when he came home laden with knowledge, which he shared with her as much as time and circumstances permit ted. "Another year and we will graduate," she used to say to Dubinsky. " When we settle for practice I will make for you all the chemical analyses, the mi croscopical work; in fact, will be your able assist- As time wore on, however, she wore out under the yoke of physical labor, for she had been the sole