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who was that, leonard? said miss wynne curiously.nobody; only an old jew who supplies me with cash.gladys laughed merrilya rippling, musical laugh.she knew the sort
of person.chapter ix
the flag flutters
the _flag of judah_, price one penny, largest circulation of any
jewish organ, continued to flutter, defying the battle, the breeze,
and its communal contemporaries.at passover there had been an
illusive augmentation of advertisements proclaiming the virtues of
unleavened everything.with the end of the festival most of these fell
out, staying as short a time as the daffodils.raphael was in despair
at the meagre attenuated appearance of the erst prosperouslooking
pages.the weekly loss on the paper weighed upon his conscience.we shall never succeed, said the subeditor, shaking his romantic
hair, till we run it for the upper ten.these ten people can make the
paper, just as they are now killing it by refusing their countenance.but they must surely reckon with us sooner or later, said raphael.it will be a long reckoning, i fear; you take my advice, and put in
more butter.itll be _kosher_ butter, coming from us.the little bohemian laughed as heartily as his eyeglass permitted.no; we must stick to our guns.after all, we have had some very good
things lately.those articles of pinchass are not bad, either.theyre so beastly egotistical.still, his english is improving, and
his theories are ingenious, and far more interesting than those
terribly dull long letters of goldsmith, which you will put in.raphael flushed a little, and began to walk up and down the new and
superior sanctum with his ungainly strides, puffing furiously at his
pipe.the appearance of the room was less bare; the floor was carpeted
with old newspapers and scraps of letters.a huge picture of an
atlantic liner, the gift of a steamship company, leaned cumbrously
against a wall.still, all our literary excellences, pursued sampson, are
outweighed by our shortcomings in getting births, marriages, and
deaths.we are gravelled for lack of that sort of matter.what is the
use of your elaborate essay on the septuagint, when the public is
dying to hear whos dead?
yes, i am afraid it is so, said raphael, emitting a huge volume of
smoke.im sure it is so.if you would only give me a freer hand i feel sure
i could work up that column.we can, at least, make a better show.i
would avoid the danger of discovery by shifting the scene to foreign
parts.i could marry some people in bombay, and kill some in cape
town, redressing the balance by bringing others into existence at
cairo and cincinnati.our contemporaries would score off us in local
interest, but we should take the shine out of them in cosmopolitanism.no, no; remember that _meshumad_, said raphael, smiling.he was real; if you had allowed me to invent a corpse we should have
been saved that contretemps.we have one death this week, fortunately,
and i am sure to fish out another in the daily papers.but we havent
had a birth for three weeks running; its just ruining our reputation.everybody knows that the orthodox are a fertile lot, and it looks as
if we hadnt got the support even of our own party.tararata! now,
you must really let me have a birth.i give you my word nobodyll
suspect it isnt genuine.come now! hows this?
he scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to raphael, who read:
birth.on the 15th inst., at 17 east stuart lane, kennington, the wife
of joseph samuels of a son.there! said sampson proudly.who would believe the little beggar
had no existence? nobody lives in kennington, and that east stuart
lane is a masterstroke.you might suspect stuart lane, but nobody
would ever dream theres no such place as _east_ stuart lane.dont
say the little chap must die; i begin to take quite a paternal
interest in him.may i announce him? dont be too scrupulous.wholl
be a penny the worse for it?
he began to chirp, with birdlike trills of melody.raphael hesitated; his moral fibre had been weakened.it is impossible
to touch print and not be defiled
