"Is this number ——?" demanded the newcomer, peering curiously at the dingy door and half shyly looking up at the occupant.
"It is. Why?" Wolffert spoke abruptly.
"Well, I have been assigned to this apartment by the Proctor. I am a new student and have just come. My name is Marvel—John Marvel." Wolffert put his arms across the doorway and stood in the middle of it.
"Well, I want to tell you before you come in that I am a Jew. You are welcome not to come, but if you come I want you to stay." Perhaps the other's astonishment contained a query, for he went on hotly:
"I have had two men come here already and both of them left after one day. The first said he got cheaper board, which was a legitimate excuse—if true—the other said he had found an old friend who wanted him. I am convinced that he lied and that the only reason he left was that I am a Jew. And now you can come in or not, as you please, but if you come you must stay." He was looking down in John Marvel's eyes with a gaze that had the concentrated bitterness of generations in it, and the latter met it with a gravity that deepened into pity.
"I will come in and I will stay; Jesus was a Jew," said the man on the lower step.
"I do not know him," said the other bitterly.
"But you will. I know Him."
Wolffert's arms fell and John Marvel entered and stayed.
That evening the two men went to the supper hall together. Their table was near mine and they were the observed of all observers. The one curious thing was that John Marvel was studying for the ministry. It lent zest to the jokes that were made on this incongruous pairing, and jests, more or less insipid, were made on the Law and the Prophets; the lying down together of the lion and the lamb, etc.