“I wrote his dedication in English, for he understands neither Hebrew nor German, the miserable, purse-proud, vanity-eaten Man-of-the-Earth.”

“Why, didn’t he give you anything at all?” said the Reb.

“Worse!  He sent me back the book.  But I’ll be revenged on him.  I’ll take the acrostic out of the next edition and let him rot in oblivion.  I have been all over the world to every great city where Jews congregate.  In Russia, in Turkey, in Germany, in Roumania, in Greece, in Morocco, in Palestine.  Everywhere the greatest Rabbis have leaped like harts on the mountains with joy at my coming.  They have fed and clothed me like a prince.  I have preached at the synagogues, and everywhere people have said it was like the Wilna Gaon come again.  From the neighboring villages for miles and miles the pious have come to be blessed by me.  Look at my testimonials from all the greatest saints and savants.  But in England—­in England alone—­what is my welcome?  Do they say:  ’Welcome, Melchitsedek Pinchas, welcome as the bridegroom to the bride when the long day is done and the feast is o’er; welcome to you, with the torch of your genius, with the burden of your learning that is rich with the whole wealth of Hebrew literature in all ages and countries.  Here we have no great and wise men.  Our Chief Rabbi is an idiot.  Come thou and be our Chief Rabbi?’ Do they say this?  No!  They greet me with scorn, coldness, slander.  As for the Rev. Elkan Benjamin, who makes such a fuss of himself because he sends a wealthy congregation to sleep with his sermons, I’ll expose him as sure as there’s a Guardian of Israel.  I’ll let the world know about his four mistresses.”

“Nonsense!  Guard yourself against the evil tongue,” said the Reb.  “How do you know he has?”

“It’s the Law of Moses,” said the little poet.  “True as I stand here.  You ask Jacob Hermann.  It was he who told me about it.  Jacob Hermann said to me one day:  ’That Benjamin has a mistress for every fringe of his four-corners.’  And how many is that, eh?  I do not know why he should be allowed to slander me and I not be allowed to tell the truth about him.  One day I will shoot him.  You know he said that when I first came to London I joined the Meshumadim in Palestine Place.”

“Well, he had at least some foundation for that,” said Reb Shemuel.

“Foundation!  Do you call that foundation—­because I lived there for a week, hunting out their customs and their ways of ensnaring the souls of our brethren, so that I might write about them one day?  Have I not already told you not a morsel of their food passed my lips and that the money which I had to take so as not to excite suspicion I distributed in charity among the poor Jews?  Why not?  From pigs we take bristles.”

“Still, you must remember that if you had not been such a saint and such a great poet, I might myself have believed that you sold your soul for money to escape starvation.  I know how these devils set their baits for the helpless immigrant, offering bread in return for a lip-conversion.  They are grown so cunning now—­they print their hellish appeals in Hebrew, knowing we reverence the Holy Tongue.”