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48 48 THE KING OF SCHNORRERS.

as for almond-cakes, Hyman himself makes none better than I get from my cousin, Barzillai of Fenchurch Street."

" Your cousin ! " exclaimed Grobstock, " the West Indian merchant ! "

"The same — formerly of Barbadoes. Still, your cook knows how to make coffee, though I can tell you do not get it direct from the plantation like the wardens of my Syna- gogue."

Grobstock was once again piqued with curiosity as to the Schnorrer' s identity.

" You accuse me of having stone figures in my house," he said boldly, " but what about the lions in front of yours? "

" I have no lions," said Manasseh.

" Wilkinson told me so. Didn't you, Wilkinson? "

" Wilkinson is a slanderer. That was the house of Na- thaniel Furtado."

Grobstock began to choke with chagrin. He perceived at once that the Schnorrer had merely had the clothes con- veyed direct to the house of a wealthy private dealer.

"Take care!" exclaimed the Schnorrer anxiously, " you are spluttering sauce all over that waistcoat, without any consideration for me."

Joseph suppressed himself with an effort. Open discus- sion would betray matters to his wife, and he was now too deeply enmeshed in falsehoods by default. But he managed to whisper angrily, " Why did you tell Wilkinson I ordered him to carry your box? "

" To save your credit in his eyes. How was he to know we had quarrelled ? He would have thought you discour- teous to your guest."

"That's all very fine. But why did you sell my clothes? "

"You did not expect me to wear them? No, I know my station, thank God."