He dashed up to Gluck's office in a hansom and put the conundrum to him. 'You see, we had no time to distribute the "pie," and we had no more type of that kind, so we had to reset it smaller,' answered Gluck glibly. His eyes were bloodshot; his face was haggard. The door of the private compartment stood open. 'Your men are not come yet, I suppose,' said Raphael. 'No,' said Gluck. 'They didn't go away till two, poor fellows! Is that the copy?' he asked as Raphael handed him a couple of slips he had distractedly scribbled in the cab under the heading of 'Talmudic Tales.' 'Thank you; it's just about the size. I shall have to set it myself.' 'But won't we be terribly late?' said poor Raphael. 'We shall be out to-day,' responded Gluck cheerfully. 'We shall be in time for the Sabbath, and that's the important thing. Don't you see they're half printed already?' He indicated a huge pile of sheets. Raphael examined them with beating heart. 'We've only to print 'em on the other side and the thing's done,' said Gluck. 'Where are your machines?' 'There,' said Gluck, pointing. 'That hand-press!' said Raphael, astonished. 'Do you mean to say you print them all with your own hand?' 'Why not?' said the dauntless Gluck. 'I shall wrap them up for the post, too.' And he shut himself up with the last of the 'copy.' Raphael, having exhausted his interest in the half-paper, fell to striding about the little shop, when who should come in but Pinchas, smoking a cigar of the Schlesinger brand! 'Ah, my prince of Rédacteurs,' said Pinchas, darting at Raphael's hand and kissing it. 'Did I not say you vould produce the finest paper in the kingdom? But vy have I not my copy by post? You must not listen to Ebenezer ven he says I must not be on the free list, the blackguard!' Raphael explained to the incredulous poet that Ebenezer had not said anything of the kind. Suddenly Pinchas's eye caught sight of the sheets. He swooped down upon them like a hawk. Then he uttered a shriek of grief. 'Vere's my poem, my great poesie?' Raphael looked embarrassed. 'This is only half the paper,' he said evasively. 'Ha, then it vill appear in the other half, _hein_?' he said, with hope tempered by a terrible suspicion. 'N-n-o,' stammered Raphael timidly. 'No?' shrieked Pinchas. 'You see--the--the fact is, it wouldn't scan. Your Hebrew poetry is perfect, but English poetry is made rather differently, and I've been too busy to correct it.'