Wednesday the Rabbi Got Wet by Harry Kemelman

little while.”
    “You want to leave your car here and we can drive you home in the cruiser?”
    “No, it’s letting up a little now. I’ll be all right.”
    “Anything we can do for you?”
    “No, thanks just the same – well, maybe you can at that. I promised to deliver these pills…”
     
    Mrs. Kestler peered anxiously out the window and said doubtfully, “It’s let up some, Rabbi, but it’s still coming down pretty hard. Hadn’t you better wait a while?”
    But he was anxious to get to the Kaplan At Home. “No, that’s all right,” he said, “I’ll make a run for it. My car is right in front of the house.”
    The rabbi opened the door, momentarily stood in the protection of the porch and then dashed down the stairs and along the front walk to his car, he had intended to get in on the passenger side, which was next to the curb, and then slide over behind the wheel, but the door was locked, as he fished for his keys, a sudden gust of wind shook the branches of the trees, showering him with the water from their rain-laden leaves. Now thoroughly drenched, he remembered that the lock did not work well and required considerable jiggling of the key to open from the outside. In racing around to the driver’s side, he stepped into the deep puddle that had formed along the curb and he uttered an unrabbinic and uncharacteristic oath.
    At last behind the wheel, but soaked and uncomfortable, he thought. “I’d better get right home and get out of these clothes or Miriam will have a fit.”
     
    Although the force of the storm had lessened considerably, the rain continued in a heavy downpour. Safferstein had to drive almost to the end of the street before he could find a place to park, a good fifty yards beyond the Kaplan house. But he turned up his collar and, with hands thrust deep in the pockets, he trudged back along the line of cars, arriving at the house, he quickly mounted the steps to the sanctuary of the porch, he paused, listening to the sounds from within. Noticing that the door was ajar, he pushed it open and entered.
    Instantly, he found himself in an atmosphere of masculine gaiety and good fellowship, the large reception hall, the adjoining living room and the dining room beyond were full of men standing around in groups, talking, laughing, arguing. When they caught sight of Safferstein, they hailed him jovially.
    “Hi, Billy.”
    “Hyuh, Billy, old boy.”
    “Hey; there’s Bill Safferstein.”
    From the tone of their greeting, he suspected that Kaplan had already told them of his offer to buy the Goralsky property and that they approved.
    He took off his coat and looked around for a place to put it, there were large piles of coats on several chairs in the reception hall, but since his was wet, he hesitated to place it on top of them.
    Kaplan greeted him and then whispered, “It’s all set.” Taking his coat, he said, “It’s wet, I better hang it up in the closet.” Kaplan draped it on a hanger and then pushed the mass of coats along the closet rod and insinuated Safferstein’s. “How’s Mona? She okay now?”
    “I went to get her some medicine and the driving was so bad I thought I’d stop here till it lets up a little.”
    “You bet. Come and have a glass of beer.”
    “Coffee would be better if you’ve got it.”
    “Sure. One coffee coming up.”
    “Say, can I use your phone?”
    “Right there.”
    He dialed his house. It was the maid who answered. “Hilda? How’s Mrs. Safferstein?… Oh, good. If she wakes up, tell her I stopped off at the Kaplans because of the storm, and I’ll be along later.”
     
    Mrs. Kestler leaned over the banister and called down to her husband below. “Joe, come quick. Your father – he sounds terrible.”
    He ran up the stairs. “Hey, Pa, what’s the matter? You all right?” To his wife he snarled. “Don’t just stand there, dummy. Call the doctor.”
    She hurried downstairs, he could hear her dialing and then talking but he could not make