The next Thursday evening after that on which judgment had been given against Mowbray, when Jacob appeared in the school-room, the anti-Jewish party gathered round him, according to the instructions of their leader, who promised to show them some good sport at the Jew’s expense. “Only give me fair play,” said Mowbray, “and stick close, and don’t let him off, for your lives don’t let him break through you, till I’ve _roasted_ him well.” “There’s your money,” cried Mowbray, throwing down the money for the watches--“take it--ay, count it--every penny right--I’ve paid you by the day appointed; and, thank Heaven and my friends, the pound of flesh next my heart is safe from your knife, Shylock!” Jacob made no reply, but he looked as if he felt much. “Now tell me, honest Jacob,” pursued Mowbray, “honest Jacob, patient Jacob, tell me, upon your honour, if you know what that word means--upon your conscience, if you ever heard of any such thing--don’t you think yourself a most pitiful dog, to persist in coming here to be made game of for twopence? ‘Tis wonderful how much your thoroughbred Jew will do and suffer for gain. We poor good Christians could never do as much now--could we any soul of us, think you, Jacob?” “Yes,” replied Jacob, “I think you _could_, I think you _would.”_ Loud scornful laughter from our party interrupted him; he waited calmly till it was over, and then continued, “Every soul of you good Christians would, I think, do as much for a father, if he were in want and dying, as mine is.” There was a silence for the moment: we were all, I believe, struck, or touched, except Mowbray, who, unembarrassed by feeling, went on with the same levity of tone as before: “A father in want! Are you sure now he is not a father of straw, Jacob, set up for the nonce, to move the compassion of the generous public? Well, I’ve little faith, but I’ve some charity--here’s a halfpenny for your father, to begin with.” “Whilst I live, my father shall ask no charity, I hope,” said the son, retreating from the insulting alms which Mowbray still proffered. “Why now, Jacob, that’s bad acting, out o’ character, Jacob, my Jew; for when did any son of Israel, any one of your tribe, or your twelve tribes, despise a farthing they could get honestly or dishonestly? Now this is a halfpenny--a good halfpenny. Come, Jacob, take it--don’t be too proud--pocket the affront--consider it’s for your father, not for yourself--you said you’d do much for your father, Jacob.” Jacob’s countenance continued rigidly calm, except some little convulsive twitches about the mouth. “Spare him, Mowbray,” whispered I, pulling back Mowbray’s arm; “Jew as he is, you see he has some feeling about his father.” “Jew as he is, and fool as you are, Harrington,” replied Mowbray, aloud, “do you really believe that this hypocrite cares about his father, supposing he has one? Do _you_ believe, boys, that a Jew pedlar _can_ love a father gratis, as we do?”