"Don't cry like that! Don't!" said David Brandon kindly.
Esther, her little shoulders heaving convulsively, put her hand on the latch.
"What's the matter with the girl, mother?" said Michael.
"She's meshugga!" said Malka. "Raving mad!" Her face was white and she spoke as if in self-defence. "She's such a Schlemihl that she lost her purse in the Lane, and I found her gushing with the eyes, and I let her carry home my fish and gave her a shilling and a peppermint, and thou seest how she turns on me, thou seest."
"Poor little thing!" said David impulsively. "Here, come here, my child."'
Esther refused to budge.
"Come here," he repeated gently. "See, I will make up the loss to you.
Take the pool. I've just won it, so I shan't miss it."
Esther sobbed louder, but she did not move.
David rose, emptied the heap of silver into his palm, walked over to Esther, and pushed it into her pocket. Michael got up and added half a crown to it, and the other two men followed suit. Then David opened the door, put her outside gently and said: "There! Run away, my little dear, and be more careful of pickpockets."
All this while Malka had stood frozen to the stony dignity of a dingy terra-cotta statue. But ere the door could close again on the child, she darted forward and seized her by the collar of her frock.