Manasseh clucked his tongue in despair of such stupidity. "It is just you who should contribute more than any Portuguese."
"I?" Grobstock wondered if he was awake.
"Yes, you. Was not the money spent in honour of the marriage of a German Jew? It was a splendid vindication of your community."
"This is too much!" cried Grobstock, outraged and choking.
"Too much to mark the admission to our fold of the first of your sect! I am disappointed in you, deeply disappointed. I thought you would have applauded my generous behaviour."
"I don't care what you thought!" gasped Grobstock. He was genuinely exasperated at the ridiculousness of the demand, but he was also pleased to find himself preserving so staunch a front against the insidious Schnorrer. If he could only keep firm now, he told himself, he might emancipate himself for ever. Yes, he would be strong, and Manasseh should never dare address him again. "I won't pay a stiver," he roared.
"If you make a scene I will withdraw," said Manasseh quietly. "Already there are ears and eyes turned upon you. From your language people will be thinking me a dun and you a bankrupt."
"They can go to the devil!" thundered Grobstock, "and you too!"
"Blasphemer! You counsel me to ask the devil to contribute to the Synagogue! I will not bandy words with you. You refuse, then, to contribute to this fund?"
"I do, I see no reason."