And the humorist pointed to the street. Yankelé did not budge. "This vay, my lud!" cried the little humorist peremptorily. "I tells you I'm going into Mr. da Costa's box!" "And I tells you you're a-goin' into the gutter." And the official seized him by the scruff of the neck and began pushing him forwards with his knee. "Now then! what's this?" "'NOW THEN! WHAT'S THIS?'" A stern, angry voice broke like a thunderclap upon the humorist's ears. He released his hold of the Schnorrer and looked up, to behold a strange, shabby, stalwart figure towering over him in censorious majesty. "Why are you hustling this poor man?" demanded Manasseh. "He wanted to sneak in," the little Cockney replied, half apologetically, half resentfully. "Expect 'e 'ails from Saffron 'Ill, and 'as 'is eye on the vipes. Told me some gammon—a cock-and-bull story about having a seat in a box." "In Mr. da Costa's box, I suppose?" said Manasseh, ominously calm, with a menacing glitter in his eye. "Ye-es," said the humorist, astonished and vaguely alarmed. Then the storm burst. "You impertinent scoundrel! You jackanapes! You low, beggarly rapscallion! And so you refused to show my guest into my box!" [59] [59] [60] [60] "Are you Mr. da Costa?" faltered the humorist. "Yes, I am Mr. da Costa, but you won't much longer be door-keeper, if this is the way you treat people who come to see your pieces. Because, forsooth, the man looks poor, you think you can bully him safely—forgive me, Yankelé, I am so sorry I did not manage to come here before you, and spare you this insulting treatment! And as for you, my fine fellow, let me tell you that you make a great mistake in judging from appearances. There are some
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