under fifteen bob for the night. And it's too
much: cuss me if it's not too much, unless you'll take my little bill at
two months, Rafael."

"There's a sweet pretty brigand's dress you may have for half de
monish," Rafael replied; "there's a splendid clown for eight bob; but
for dat Spanish dress, selp ma Moshesh, Mistraer Lint, ve'd ask a guinea
of any but you. Here's a gentlemansh just come to look at it. Look 'ear,
Mr. Brownsh, did you ever shee a nisher ting dan dat?" So saying, Rafael
turned to Lord Codlingsby with the utmost gravity, and displayed to him
the garment about which the young medicus was haggling.

"Cheap at the money," Codlingsby replied; "if you won't make up your
mind, sir, I should like to engage it myself." But the thought that
another should appear before Polly Pattens in that costume was too much
for Mr. Lint; he agreed to pay the fifteen shillings for the garment.
And Rafael, pocketing the money with perfect simplicity, said, "Dis vay,
Mr. Brownsh: dere's someting vill shoot you in the next shop."

Lord Codlingsby followed him, wondering.

"You are surprised at our system," said Rafael, marking the evident
bewilderment of his friend. "Confess you would call it meanness--my
huckstering with yonder young fool. I call it simplicity. Why throw away
a shilling without need? Our race never did. A shilling is four men's
bread: shall I disdain to defile my fingers by holding them out relief
in their necessity? It is you who are mean--you Normans--not we of the
ancient race. You have your vulgar measurement for great things and
small. You call a thousand pounds respectable, and a shekel despicable.
Psha, my Codlingsby! One is as the other. I trade in pennies and in
millions. I am above or below neither."

They were passing through a second shop, smelling strongly of cedar,
and, in fact, piled up with bales of those pencils which the young
Hebrews are in the habit of vending through the streets. "I have sold
bundles and bundles of these," said Rafael. "My little brother is now
out with oranges in Piccadilly. I am bringing him up to be head of our
house at Amsterdam. We all do it. I had myself to see Rothschild in
Eaton Place this morning, about the Irish loan, of which I have taken
three millions: and as I wanted to walk, I carried the bag.

"You should have seen the astonishment of Lauda Latymer, the Archbishop
of Croydon's daughter, as she was passing St. Bennet's, Knightsbridge,
and as she fanc