Joseph thought it best to kiss Mrs. Grobstock. "THOUGHT IT BEST TO KISS MRS. GROBSTOCK." "A fellow-Director, I suppose?" she urged, more mildly. "A fellow-Israelite. He has promised to come at six." Manasseh was punctual to the second. Wilkinson ushered him in. The hostess had robed herself in her best to do honour to a situation which her husband awaited with what hope he could. She looked radiant in a gown of blue silk; her hair was done in a tuft and round her neck was an "esclavage," consisting of festoons of gold chains. The Sabbath table was equally festive with its ponderous silver candelabra, coffee-urn, and consecration cup, its flower-vases, and fruit-salvers. The dining-room itself was a handsome apartment; its buffets glittered with Venetian glass and Dresden porcelain, and here and there gilt pedestals supported globes of gold and silver fish. At the first glance at his guest Grobstock's blood ran cold. Manasseh had not turned a hair, nor changed a single garment. At the next glance Grobstock's blood boiled. A second figure loomed in Manasseh's wake—a short Schnorrer, even dingier than da Costa, and with none of his dignity, a clumsy, stooping Schnorrer, with a cajoling grin on his mud-coloured, hairy face. Neither removed his headgear. [43] [43] Mrs. Grobstock remained glued to her chair in astonishment. "Peace be unto you," said the King of Schnorrers, "I have brought with me my friend Yankelé ben Yitzchok of whom I told you." Yankelé nodded, grinning harder than ever. "You never told me he was coming," Grobstock rejoined, with an apoplectic air. [44] [44] "Did I not tell you that he always supped with me on Friday evenings?" Manasseh reminded him quietly. "It is so good of him to accompany me even here—he will make the necessary third at grace."
Prev.
Back
Top