Raphael looked embarrassed.
'This is only half the paper,' he said evasively.
'Ha, then it vill appear in the other half, hein?' he said, with hope tempered by a terrible suspicion.
'N-n-o,' stammered Raphael timidly.
'No?' shrieked Pinchas.
'You see—the—the fact is, it wouldn't scan. Your Hebrew poetry is perfect, but English poetry is made rather differently, and I've been too busy to correct it.'
'But it is exactly like Lord Byron's!' shrieked Pinchas. 'Mein Gott! All night I lie avake, vaiting for the post. At eight o'clock the post comes, but the Flag of Judah she vaves not. I rush round here, and now my beautiful poem vill not appear!' He seized the sheet again, then cried fiercely: 'You have a tale, "The Waters of Babylon," by Ebenezer the fool-boy, but my poesie have you not. Gott in Himmel!' He tore the sheet frantically across, and rushed from the shop. In five minutes he reappeared. Raphael was absorbed in reading the last proof. Pinchas plucked timidly at his coat-tails. 'You vill put it in next veek?' he said winningly.
'I dare say,' said Raphael gently.
'Ah, promise me! I vill love you like a brother. I vill be grateful to you for ever and ever. I vill never ask another favour of you in all my life. Ve are already like brothers—hein?—I and you, the only two men——'
'Yes, yes,' interrupted Raphael. 'It shall appear next week.'