"Through this door," said Manasseh encouragingly. "Come—you shall lead the way."
"But dey vill not admit me!"
"Will not admit you! When I give you a seat in my box! Are you mad? Now you shall just go in without me—I insist upon it. I will show you Manasseh Bueno Barzillai Azevedo da Costa is a man whose word is the Law of Moses; true as the Talmud. Walk straight through the portico, and, if the attendant endeavours to stop you, simply tell him Mr. da Costa has given you a seat in his box."
Not daring to exhibit scepticism—nay, almost confident in the powers of his extraordinary protector, Yankelé put his foot on the threshold of the lobby.
"But you be coming, too?" he said, turning back.
"Oh, yes, I don't intend to miss the performance. Have no fear."
Yankelé walked boldly ahead, and brushed by the door-keeper of the little theatre without appearing conscious of him; indeed, the official was almost impressed into letting the Schnorrer pass unquestioned as one who had gone out between the acts. But the visitor was too dingy for anything but the stage-door—he had the air of those nondescript beings who hang mysteriously about the hinder recesses of playhouses. Recovering himself just in time, the functionary (a meek little Cockney) hailed the intruder with a backward-drawing "Hi!"
"Vat you vant?" said Yankelé, turning his head.
"Vhere's your ticket?"
"Don't vant no ticket."