"What are you about to do?" cried Grobstock apprehensively. "You shall see," said Manasseh resolutely, and when the attendant came, he pressed the price of his cup of coffee into his hand. Grobstock flushed in silent humiliation. Manasseh rose. Grobstock's fatal strain of weakness gave him a twinge of compunction at the eleventh hour. "You see for yourself how unreasonable your request was," he murmured. "Do not strive to justify yourself, I am done with you," said Manasseh. "I am done with you as a philanthropist. For the future you may besnuff and bespatter your coat as much as you please, for all the trouble I shall ever take. As a financier, I still respect you, and may yet come to you, but as a philanthropist, never." "Anything I can do--" muttered Grobstock vaguely. "Let me see!" said Manasseh, looking down upon him thoughtfully. "Ah, yes, an idea! I have collected over sixty pounds. If you would invest this for me--" "Certainly, certainly," interrupted Grobstock, with conciliatory eagerness. "Good! With your unrivalled knowledge of the markets, you could easily bring it up to the necessary sum in a day or two. Perhaps even there is some grand _coup_ on the _tapis_, something to be bulled or beared in which you have a hand." Grobstock nodded his head vaguely. He had already remembered that the proceeding was considerably below his dignity; he was not a stockbroker, never had he done anything of the kind for anyone. "But suppose I lose it all?" he asked, trying to draw back. "Impossible," said the _Schnorrer_ serenely. "Do you forget it is a Synagogue fund? Do you think the Almighty will suffer His money to be lost?" "Then why not speculate yourself?" said Grobstock craftily. "The Almighty's honour must be guarded. What! Shall He be less well served than an earthly monarch? Do you think I do not know your financial relations with the Court? The service of the Almighty demands the best men. I was the best man to collect the money--you are the best to invest it. To-morrow morning it shall be in your hands." "No, don't trouble," said Grobstock feebly. "I don't need the actual money to deal with." "I thank you for your trust in me," replied Manasseh with emotion. "Now you speak like yourself again. I withdraw what I said to you. I _will_ come to you again--to the philanthropist no less than financier. And--and I am sorry I paid for my coffee." His voice quivered. Grobstock was touched. He took out a sixpence and repaid his guest with interest. Manasseh slipped the coin into his pocket, and shortly afterwards, with some final admonitions to his stock-jobber, took his leave. Being in for the job, Grobstock resolved to make the best of it. His latent vanity impelled him to astonish the Beggar. It happened that he _was_ on the point of a magnificent manoeuvre, and alongside his own triton Manasseh's minnow might just as well swim. He made the sixty odd pounds into six hundred.