"No, no, certainly not. I do not carry money on the Sabbath." "Exactly. Neither do I." "But the money was at my bankers'." "And so it was at mine. _You_ are my bankers, you and others like you. You draw on your bankers--I draw on mine." And his cousin being thus confuted, Manasseh had not much further difficulty in wheedling two pounds ten out of him. "And now," said he, "I really think you ought to do something to lessen the Synagogue's loss." "But I have just given!" quoth Barzillai in bewilderment. "_That_ you gave to me as your cousin, to enable your relative to discharge his obligations. I put it strictly on a personal footing. But now I am pleading on behalf of the Synagogue, which stands to lose heavily. You are a Sephardi as well as my cousin. It is a distinction not unlike the one I have so often to explain to you. You owe me charity, not only as a cousin, but as a _Schnorrer_ likewise." And, having wrested another guinea from the obfuscated merchant, he repaired to Grobstock's business office in search of the defaulter. But the wily Grobstock, forewarned by Manasseh's promise to visit him, and further frightened by his Sunday morning call, had denied himself to the _Schnorrer_ or anyone remotely resembling him, and it was not till the afternoon that Manasseh ran him to earth at Sampson's coffee-house in Exchange Alley, where the brokers foregathered, and 'prentices and students swaggered in to abuse the Ministers, and all kinds of men from bloods to barristers loitered to pick up hints to easy riches. Manasseh detected his quarry in the furthermost box, his face hidden behind a broadsheet. [Illustration: "HIS FACE HIDDEN BEHIND A BROADSHEET."] "Why do you always come to me?" muttered the East India Director helplessly. "Eh?" said Manasseh, mistrustful of his own ears. "I beg your pardon." "If your own community cannot support you," said Grobstock, more loudly, and with all the boldness of an animal driven to bay, "why not go to Abraham Goldsmid, or his brother Ben, or to Van Oven, or Oppenheim--they're all more prosperous than I." "Sir!" said Manasseh wrathfully. "You are a skilful--nay, a famous, financier. You know what stocks to buy, what stocks to sell, when to follow a rise, and when a fall. When the Premier advertises the loans, a thousand speculators look to you for guidance. What would you say if _I_ presumed to interfere in your financial affairs--if I told you to issue these shares or to call in those? You would tell me to mind my own business; and you would be perfectly right. Now _Schnorring_ is _my_ business. Trust me, I know best whom to come to. You stick to stocks and leave _Schnorring_ alone. You are the King of Financiers, but I am the King of _Schnorrers_." Grobstock's resentment at the rejoinder was mitigated by the compliment to his financial insight. To be put on the same level with the Beggar was indeed unexpected. "Will you have a cup of coffee?" he said.