“I’d like to.”
I know I was a fool, and should have forbidden her to go with us, nor have allowed her, wheedle as she might, to have run the risk of what might be to come; but when I felt her little hand upon my arm, I would not have had her take it off again, not—not for a great deal.
When we had gone a little way from the station, Mr. Bernstein, corkscrewing his way through the crowd, reached Lawrence’s side. Apparently, although he had made an effort to screw his courage to the sticking point, he was still not quite satisfied as to the sort of reception which he might receive; he spoke with such an air of deprecation.
“Now, Ted, dear boy, don’t be shirty, it’s only me. Do take my advice—be careful! Don’t go too far! Be reasonable, and I’ll be the best friend you ever had, as I always have been; only—do pull up before it’s too late!”
Lawrence, standing still, addressed himself to the crowd.
“Gentlemen—and ladies!—because I believe there are some ladies among you—real ladies!—allow me to introduce to you Mr. Isaac Bernstein, usurer, Jew, who makes a speciality of dealing in forged bills. He keeps a school for forgers, where young penmen are trained in the delicate arts of imitating other people’s signatures. He’s been the cause of many a good man’s being sent to gaol; where, one day, as sure as he’s alive, he’ll go to join them.”
Mr. Bernstein stammered and stuttered.
“Don’t—don’t talk to me like that! The—the man’s stark mad!”
“Not yet. Still sane enough to make the world acquainted with Isaac Bernstein, trafficker in forgeries.”
With his open palm he struck the Jew a resounding blow on either cheek. The people roared with laughter. I turned to the lady.