"Very well," said the _Schnorrer_ imperturbably, and, lifting up his voice, he called "Wilkinson!" "Hush!" commanded Grobstock. "What are you doing?" "I will tell Wilkinson to bring back my property." "Wilkinson will not obey you." "Not obey _me_! A servant! Why he is not even black! All the Sephardim I visit have black pages--much grander than Wilkinson--and they tremble at my nod. At Baron D'Aguilar's mansion in Broad Street Buildings there is a retinue of twenty-four servants, and they--" "And what is your second claim?" "Compensation for being degraded to fishmongering. I am not of those who sell things in the streets. I am a son of the Law, a student of the Talmud." "If a crown piece will satisfy each of these claims--" "I am not a blood-sucker--as it is said in the Talmud, Tractate Passover, 'God loves the man who gives not way to wrath nor stickles for his rights'--that makes altogether three guineas and three crowns." "Yes. Here they are." Wilkinson reappeared. "You called me, sir?" he said. "No, _I_ called you," said Manasseh, "I wished to give you a crown." And he handed him one of the three. Wilkinson took it, stupefied, and retired. "Did I not get rid of him cleverly?" said Manasseh. "You see how he obeys me!" "Ye-es." "I shall not ask you for more than the bare crown I gave him to save your honour." "To save my honour!" "Would you have had me tell him the real reason I called him was that his master was a thief? No, sir, I was careful not to shed your blood in public, though you had no such care for mine." "Here is the crown!" said Grobstock savagely. "Nay, here are three!" He turned out his breeches-pockets to exhibit their absolute nudity. "No, no," said Manasseh mildly, "I shall take but two. You had best keep the other--you may want a little silver." He pressed it into the magnate's hand. "You should not be so prodigal in future," he added, in kindly reproach. "It is bad to be left with nothing in one's pocket--I know the feeling, and can sympathise with you." Grobstock stood speechless, clasping the crown of charity. Standing thus at the hall door, he had the air of Wilkinson, surprised by a too generous vail. Da Costa cut short the crisis by offering his host a pinch from the jewel-crusted snuff-box. Grobstock greedily took the whole box, the beggar resigning it to him without protest. In his gratitude for this unexpected favour, Grobstock pocketed the silver insult without further ado, and led the way towards the second-hand clothes. He walked gingerly, so as not to awaken his wife, who was a great amateur of the siesta, and might issue suddenly from her apartment like a spider, but Manasseh stolidly thumped on the stairs with his staff. Happily the carpet was thick. The clothes hung in a mahogany wardrobe with a plateglass front in Grobstock's elegantly appointed bedchamber.