This reminder of Raphael's congenital incompetence softened their minds towards him, so that when he straightway resigned his editorship, their self-constituted spokesman besought him to remain. Perhaps they remembered, too, that he was cheap. 'But we must all edit the paper,' said De Haan enthusiastically, when peace was re-established. 'We must have meetings every day, and every article must be read aloud before it is printed.' Little Sampson winked cynically, passing his hand pensively through his thick tangled locks, but Raphael saw no objection to the arrangement. As before, he felt his own impracticability borne in upon him, and he decided to sacrifice himself for the Cause as far as conscience permitted. Excessive as was the zeal of these men, it was after all in the true groove. His annoyance returned for a while, however, when Sugarman the Shadchan seized the auspicious moment of restored amity to inquire insinuatingly if his sister was engaged. Pinchas and Little Sampson went down the stairs quivering with noiseless laughter, which became boisterous when they reached the street. Pinchas was in high feather. 'The fool-men!' he said, as he led the sub-editor into a public-house and regaled him on stout and sandwiches. 'They believe any _Narrischkeit_. I and you are the only two sensible Jews in England. You vill see that my poesie goes in next veek--promise me that! To your life!' Here they touched glasses. 'Ah, it is beautiful poesie. Such high tragic ideas! You vill kiss me when you read them.' He laughed in childish light-heartedness. 'Perhaps I write you a comic opera for your company--_hein?_ Already I love you like a brother. Another glass stout? Bring us two more, thou Hebe of the hops-nectar. You have seen my comedy, "The Hornet of Judah"? No? Ah, she vas a great comedy, Sampson. All London talked of her. She has been translated into every tongue. Perhaps I play in your company. I am a great actor--_hein?_ You know not my forte is voman's parts--I make myself so lovely complexion vith red paint, I fall in love vith me.' He sniggered over his stout. 'The Rédacteur will not redact long, _hein?_' he said presently. 'He is a fool-man. If he work for nothing they think that is what he is worth. They are orthodox--he-he!' 'But he is orthodox too,' said Little Sampson. 'Yes,' replied Pinchas musingly. 'It is strange. It is vairy strange. I cannot understand him. Never in all my experience have I met another such man. There vas an Italian exile I talked vith once in the island of Chios--his eyes were like Leon's, soft vith a shining splendour like the stars vich are the eyes of the angels of love. Ah, he is a good man, and he writes sharp--he has ideas, not like an English Jew at all. I could throw my arms round him sometimes. I love him like a brother.' His voice softened. 'Another glass stout--ve vill drink to him.'