"DROVE IN STATE."
"Hired?" echoed Manasseh resentfully. "Do you not recognise the arms of my friend, Beau Belasco?" And he presently drove off with the note, for Rodriques had a roguish eye. And then, parting with the chariot, the King took his way on foot to Fenchurch Street, to the house of his cousin Barzillai, the ex-planter of Barbadoes, and now a West Indian merchant.
Barzillai, fearing humiliation before his clerks, always carried his relative off to the neighbouring Franco's Head Tavern, and humoured him with costly liquors.
"But you had no right to donate money you did not possess; it was dishonest," he cried with irrepressible ire.
"Hoity toity!" said Manasseh, setting down his glass so vehemently that the stem shivered. "And were you not called to the Law after me? And did you not donate money?"
"Certainly! But I had the money."
"What! With you?"
"No, no, certainly not. I do not carry money on the Sabbath."
"Exactly. Neither do I."