"Then I must go on paying the difference," said Raphael decisively. "I am responsible to you that you get the salary you're used to; it's my fault that things are changed, and I must pay the penalty," He crammed the cheque forcibly into the pocket of the toga.
"Well, if you put it in that way," said little Sampson, "I won't say I couldn't do with it. But only as a loan, mind."
"All right," murmured Raphael.
"And you'll take it back when my comic opera goes on tour. You won't back out?"
"No."
"Give us your hand on it," said little Sampson huskily. Raphael gave him his hand, and little Sampson swung it up and down like a baton.
"Hang it all! and that man calls himself a Jew!" he thought. Aloud he said: "When my comic opera goes on tour."
They returned to the editorial den, where they found Pinchas raging, a telegram in his hand.
"Ah, the Man-of-the-Earth!" he cried. "All my beautiful peroration he
spoils." He crumpled up the telegram and threw it pettishly at little
Sampson, then greeted Raphael with effusive joy and hilarity. Little
Sampson read the telegram. It ran as follows:
"Last sentence of Gideon leader. 'It is too early yet in this moment of grief to speculate as to his successor in the constituency. But, difficult as it will be to replace him, we may find some solace in the thought that it will not be impossible. The spirit of the illustrious dead would itself rejoice to acknowledge the special qualifications of one whose name will at once rise to every lip as that of a brother Jew whose sincere piety and genuine public spirit mark him out as the one worthy substitute in the representation of a district embracing so many of our poor Jewish brethren. Is it too much to hope that he will be induced to stand?' Goldsmith."