"In Mr. da Costa's box, I suppose?" said Manasseh, ominously calm, with a menacing glitter in his eye. "Ye-es," said the humorist, astonished and vaguely alarmed. Then the storm burst. "You impertinent scoundrel! You jackanapes! You low, beggarly rapscallion! And so you refused to show my guest into my box!" "Are you Mr. da Costa?" faltered the humorist. "Yes, _I_ am Mr. da Costa, but _you_ won't much longer be door-keeper, if this is the way you treat people who come to see your pieces. Because, forsooth, the man looks poor, you think you can bully him safely--forgive me, Yankelé, I am so sorry I did not manage to come here before you, and spare you this insulting treatment! And as for you, my fine fellow, let me tell you that you make a great mistake in judging from appearances. There are some good friends of mine who could buy up your theatre and you and your miserable little soul at a moment's notice, and to look at them you would think they were cadgers. One of these days--hark you!--you will kick out a person of quality, and be kicked out yourself." "I--I'm very sorry, sir." "Don't say that to me. It is my guest you owe an apology to. Yes--and, by Heaven! you shall pay it, though he is no plutocrat, but only what he appears. Surely, because I wish to give a treat to a poor man who has, perhaps, never been to the play in his life, I am not bound to send him to the gallery--I can give him a corner in my box if I choose. There is no rule against that, I presume?" "No, sir, I can't say as there is," said the humorist humbly. "But you will allow, sir, it's rayther unusual." "Unusual! Of course, it's unusual. Kindness and consideration for the poor are always unusual. The poor are trodden upon at every opportunity, treated like dogs, not men. If I had invited a drunken fop, you'd have met him hat in hand (no, no, you needn't take it off to me now; it's too late). But a sober, poor man--by gad! I shall report your incivility to the management, and you'll be lucky if I don't thrash you with this stick into the bargain." "But 'ow vos I to know, sir?" "Don't speak to me, I tell you. If you have anything to urge in extenuation of your disgraceful behaviour, address your remarks to my guest." "You'll overlook it this time, sir," said the little humorist, turning to Yankelé. "Next time, p'raps, you believe me ven I say I have a seat in Mr. da Costa's box," replied Yankelé, in gentle reproach. "Well, if _you're_ satisfied, Yankelé," said Manasseh, with a touch of scorn, "I have no more to say. Go along, my man, show us to our box." The official bowed and led them into the corridor. Suddenly he turned back. "What box is it, please?" he said timidly. "Blockhead!" cried Manasseh. "Which box should it be? The empty one, of course." "But, sir, there are two boxes empty," urged the poor humorist deprecatingly, "the stage-box and the one by the gallery."