“Has n't he, though? Just come over to the 'Four Nations,' and I 'll show her to you. And such a stunning girl too!”
“No, no, I never belief it—never; he did never speak to me of a daughter.”
“Whether he did or not—there she is, that's all I know.”
The Jew shook his head, and sought refuge in his former muttering of “Ach, der Davis!”
“As far as not telling you about his daughter, I can say he never told me, and I fancy we were about as intimate as most people; but the fact is as I tell you.”
Another sigh was all his answer, and Beecher was fast reaching the limit of his patience.
“Daughter, or no daughter, I want a matter of a couple of thousand florins,—no objection to a trifle more, of course,—and wish to know how you can let me have them.”
“The Margraf was here two week ago, and he say to me, 'Lazarus,' say he,—'Lazarus, where is your goot friend Davis?' 'Highness,' say I, 'dat I know not.' Den he say, 'I will find him, if I go to Jerusalem;' and I say, 'Go to Jerusalem.'”
“What did he want with him?”
“What he want?—what every one want, and what nobody get, except how he no like—ha! ha! ha! Ach, der Davis!”