94 THE KING OF SCHNORRERS.
" First come, first served," observed Manasseh, with his sphinx-like expression, as he fell-to.
Yankele sat frozen, staring blankly at the dish, his brain as empty. He had lost.
Such a dinner was a hollow mockery — like the dish. He could not expect Manasseh to accept it, quibbled he ever so cunningly. He sat for a minute or two as in a dream, the music of knife and fork ringing mockingly in his ears, his hungry palate moistened by the delicious savour. Then he shook off his stupor, and all his being was desperately astrain, questing for an idea. Manasseh discoursed with his host on neo-Hebrew literature.
" We thought of starting a journal at Grodno," said the Rabbi, " only the funds — "
"Be you den a native of Grodno?" interrupted Yan- kele.
"Yes, I was born there," mumbled the Rabbi, "but I left there twenty years ago." His mouth was full, and he did not cease to ply the cutlery.
"Ah!" said Yankele enthusiastically, "den you must be de famous preacher everybody speaks of. I do not remem- ber you myself, for I vas a boy, but dey say ve haven't got no such preachers nowaday."
" In Grodno my husband kept a brandy shop," put in the hostess.
There was a bad quarter of a minute of silence. To Yankele's relief, the Rabbi ended it by observing, " Yes, but doubtless the gentleman (you will excuse me calling you that, sir, I don't know your real name) alluded to my fame as a boy-Maggid. At the age of five I preached to audi- ences of many hundreds, and my manipulation of texts, my demonstrations that they did not mean what they said, drew tears even from octogenarians familiar with the Torah from
