"So ve found," added the provision dealer, "for Rebecca, she von nearly ev’ry pool. After a bit I votched ’er close, and found some of the cards vos marked. So I says: ’Rebecca,’ I says, ’you ain’t playin’ fair,’ I says. ’_Vot!_’ she cries, colourin’ up. ’Vy,’ I says, ’you’re cheatin’, my dear!’ Yes, I said that--to ’er face--and she up and let me ’ave ’er nails--all ten of ’em--down my face, an’ ’er brother ’e says if I vosn’t an old man ’e’d throw me out of the ’ouse. Yes, ’e said that. And I says, ’Isaac,’ I says, ’vill you see your old fader used in this vay, vithout raisin’ a ’and to ’elp ’im?’ But Isaac was turnin’ green an’ pink, and didn’t dare say nothink, so ven I’d got out of Rebecca’s clutches I ups vith my glass of gin-and-vater an’ lets Rebecca’s brother ’ave it full in the face, an’ then I gets ’old of the poker an’ I says: ’Touch me,’ I says, ’an’ I’ll rap you over the skull,’ I says. Yes, like that! And he daren’t put a finger on me, so I gets my ’at an’ off I goes, and if they’ve got my money I’ve got their poker--yes, and I’ll keep it, too--yes, and that’s vot ’appened, doctor dear." [Illustration: "TOUCH ME," I SAYS, "AN’ I’LL RAP YOU OVER THE SKULL," I SAYS] "Bravo!" said Jim, who had listened to this improving story with all possible interest. "You’re quite a scrapper, Mr Harris." But the old man, whose eyes had burnt fiercely during his recital of the incident, sat down with a sigh. "But it’s vorse than ever at ’ome, now," he said. "Isaac, ’e’s like a vild beast. ’E sees vot Rebecca is, and yet ’e’s mad after ’er still. Yes, that’s ’is state." It was hardly to be supposed that Jim would evince any sympathy for the young Jew, knowing, as he did, that Isaac had put the Hooligans on his track in Pine Court that night. But Jim felt for the old dealer. "Now, look here, Mr Harris," he said, "if you pull up and play the man you can get that business back, and be your own master again." But the dealer shook his head. A reaction had followed his animated account of the card-party, and he seemed to have shrunk into a smaller and older man than he really was. He took the ointment Jim handed to him and put on his hat. His grey locks were unkempt, his clothes shabby and unbrushed, his eyes dim. He presented, indeed, a pathetic spectacle. Bidding Jim good evening, the old Jew, with bowed shoulders, crept out of the surgery, and trudged away through the December drizzle to resume his joyless tasks at the provision shop. For some time Jim sat by his fire thinking over the words of warning Mr Harris had uttered. Next time, the provision dealer had said, the Hooligans would make sure of him.