'Trust the Octobrists,' he said cheerily.
'I'd rather trust our revolvers.'
The Banker's cigar fell from his mouth.
'An anarchist! like my nephew Simon!'
David began to realize the limitations of the financial intellect. He saw that to get ideas into Bankers' brains is even more difficult than to get cheques from their pockets. Still, there was that promising scapegrace Simon! He hurried out on his scent, and ran him to earth in a cosy house near the town gate. Simon practised law, it appeared, and his surname was Rubensky.
The young barrister, informed of his uncle's accusation of anarchism, laughed contemptuously. 'Bourgeois! Every idea that makes no money he calls anarchy. As a matter of fact, I'm the exact opposite of an anarchist: I'm a socialist. I belong to the P.P.S. We're not even revolutionary like the S.R.'s.'
'I'm afraid I'm a great ignoramus,' said David. 'I don't even know what all these letters stand for.'
Simon Rubensky looked pityingly as at a bourgeois.
'S.R.'s are the silly Social Revolutionists; I belong to the Polish Party of Socialism.'
'Ah!' said David, with an air of comprehension. 'And I belong to the Jewish Party of Self-Defence! I hope you'll join it too.'