"Guard your tongue! A Sephardi cannot marry a Tedesco! It would be a degradation." "Yes--but de oder vay round. A Tedesco _can_ marry a Sephardi, not so? Dat is a rise. If Grobstock's daughter had married you, she vould have married above her," he ended, with an ingenuous air. "True," admitted Manasseh. "But then, as Grobstock's daughter does not exist, and my wife does--!" "Ah, but if you vas me," said Yankelé, "vould you rader marry a Tedesco or a Sephardi?" "A Sephardi, of course. But--" "I vill be guided by you," interrupted the Pole hastily. "You be de visest man I have ever known." "But--" Manasseh repeated. "Do not deny it. You be! Instantly vill I seek out a Sephardi maiden and ved her. P'raps you crown your counsel by choosing von for me. Vat?" Manasseh was visibly mollified. "How do I know your taste?" he asked hesitatingly. "Oh, any Spanish girl would be a prize," replied Yankelé. "Even ven she had a face like a Passover cake. But still I prefer a Pentecost blossom." "What kind of beauty do you like best?" "Your daughter's style," plumply answered the Pole. "But there are not many like that," said da Costa unsuspiciously. "No--she is like de Rose of Sharon. But den dere are not many handsome faders." Manasseh bethought himself. "There is Gabriel, the corpse-watcher's daughter. People consider his figure and deportment good." "Pooh! Offal! She's ugly enough to keep de Messiah from coming. Vy, she's like cut out of de fader's face! Besides, consider his occupation! You vould not advise dat I marry into such a low family! Be you not my benefactor?" "Well, but I cannot think of any good-looking girl that would be suitable." Yankelé looked at him with a roguish, insinuating smile. "Say not dat! Have you not told Grobstock you be de first of marriage-brokers?" But Manasseh shook his head. "No, you be quite right," said Yankelé humbly; "I could not get a really beaudiful girl unless I married your Deborah herself." "No, I am afraid not," said Manasseh sympathetically. Yankelé took the plunge. "Ah, vy can I not hope to call you fader-in-law?" Manasseh's face was contorted by a spasm of astonishment and indignation. He came to a standstill. "Dat must be a fine piece," said Yankelé quickly, indicating a flamboyant picture of a fearsome phantom hovering over a sombre moat. [Illustration: "'DAT MUST BE A FINE PIECE.'"] They had arrived at Leman Street, and had stopped before Goodman's Fields Theatre. Manasseh's brow cleared. "It is _The Castle Spectre_," he said graciously. "Would you like to see it?" "But it is half over--" "Oh, no," said da Costa, scanning the play bill. "There was a farce by O'Keefe to start with. The night is yet young. The drama will be just beginning." "But it is de Sabbath--ve must not pay." Manasseh's brow clouded again in wrathful righteous surprise. "Did you think I was going to pay?" he gasped. "N-n-no," stammered the Pole, abashed. "But you haven't got no orders?"