“Vould our Sages (their memories for a blessing) put anything into the Talmud that vasn’t true?” queried Sugarman.  “Ve know there are demons because it stands that Solomon knew their language.”

“But then, what about this?” pursued Raphael. “’I saw a frog which was as big as the district of Akra Hagronia.  A sea-monster came and swallowed the frog, and a raven came and ate the sea-monster.  The raven then went and perched on a tree’ Consider how strong that tree must have been.  R. Papa ben Samuel remarks, ’Had I not been present, I should not have believed it.’  Doesn’t this appendix about ben Samuel show that it was never meant to be taken seriously?”

“It has some high meaning we do not understand in these degenerate times,” said Guedalyah the greengrocer.  “It is not for our paper to weaken faith in the Talmud.”

“Hear, hear!” said De Haan, while “Epikouros” rumbled through the air, like distant thunder.

“Didn’t I say an Englishman could never master the Talmud?” Sugarman asked in triumph.

This reminder of Raphael’s congenital incompetence softened their minds towards him, so that when he straightway resigned his editorship, their self-constituted spokesman besought him to remain.  Perhaps they remembered, too, that he was cheap.

“But we must all edit the paper,” said De Haan enthusiastically, when peace was re-established.  “We must have meetings every day and every article must he read aloud before it is printed.”

Little Sampson winked cynically, passing his hand pensively through his thick tangled locks, but Raphael saw no objection to the arrangement.  As before, he felt his own impracticability borne in upon him, and he decided to sacrifice himself for the Cause as far as conscience permitted.  Excessive as it was the zeal of these men, it was after all in the true groove.  His annoyance returned for a while, however, when Sugarman the Shadchan seized the auspicious moment of restored amity to inquire insinuatingly if his sister was engaged.  Pinchas and little Sampson went down the stairs, quivering with noiseless laughter, which became boisterous when they reached the street.  Pinchas was in high feather.

“The fool-men!” he said, as he led the sub-editor into a public-house and regaled him on stout and sandwiches.  “They believe any Narrischkeit.  I and you are the only two sensible Jews in England.  You vill see that my poesie goes in next week—­promise me that!  To your life!” here they touched glasses.  “Ah, it is beautiful poesie.  Such high tragic ideas!  You vill kiss me when you read them!” He laughed in childish light-heartedness.  “Perhaps I write you a comic opera for your company—­hein?  Already I love you like a brother.  Another glass stout?  Bring us two more, thou Hebe of the hops-nectar.  You have seen my comedy ’The Hornet of Judah’—­No?—­Ah, she vas a great comedy, Sampson.  All London talked of her.  She has been translated into every tongue.