132 THE KING OF SCHNORRERS.
This time the thrill, the whisper, the flutter, swelled into a positive buzz. The gaze of the entire congregation was focussed upon the Beggar, who stood impassive in the blaze of glory. Even the orphan boys, packed in their pew, paused in their inattention to the Service, and craned their necks towards the platform. The veriest magnates did not thus play piety with five pound points. In the ladies' gallery the excitement was intense. The occupants gazed eagerly through the grille. One woman — a buxom dame of forty summers, richly clad and jewelled — had risen, and was tiptoeing frantically over the woodwork, her feather waving like a signal of distress. It was Manasseh's wife. The waste of money maddened her, each donation hit her like a poisoned arrow ; in vain she strove to catch her spouse's eye. The air seemed full of gowns and toques and farthin- gales flaming away under her very nose, without her being able to move hand or foot in rescue ; whole wardrobes per- ished at each Benediction. It was with the utmost difficulty she restrained herself from shouting down to her prodigal lord. At her side the radiant Deborah vainly tried to pacify her by assurances that Manasseh never intended to pay up.
" Who vows — " The Benediction had begun for a fourth time.
" Cinco livras for the Holy Land." And the sensation grew. " For the life of this holy congregation, &c."
The Master Reader's voice droned on impassively, inter- minably.
The fourth Benediction was drawing to its close, when the beadle was seen to mount the platform and whisper in his ear. Only Manasseh overheard the message.
"The Chief of the Elders says you must stop. This is mere mockery. The man is a Schnorrer, an impudent beggar."
