ff must be crowded out. It's frightful
having to edit your editor. Why wasn't he made sub?"

"That would have been just as trying for you," said Raphael with a
melancholy smile. He took up a galley-proof and began to correct it. To
his surprise he came upon his own paragraph about Strelitski's
resignation: it caused him fresh emotion. This great spiritual crisis
had quite slipped his memory, so egoistic are the best of us at times.
"Please be careful that Pinchas's autobiography does not crowd that
out," he said.

Pinchas arrived late, when little Sampson was almost in despair. "It is
all right." he shouted, waving a roll of manuscript. "I have him from
the cradle--the stupid stockbroker, the Man-of-the-Earth, who sent me
back my poesie, and vould not let me teach his boy Judaism. And vhile I
had the inspiration I wrote the leader also in the Museum--it is
here--oh, vairy beautiful! Listen to the first sentence. 'The Angel of
Death has passed again over Judaea; he has flown off vith our visest and
our best, but the black shadow of his ving vill long rest upon the House
of Israel.' And the end is vordy of the beginning. He is dead: but he
lives for ever enshrined in the noble tribute to his genius in
_Metatoron's Flames_."

Little Sampson seized the "copy" and darted with it to the
composing-room, where Raphael was busy giving directions. By his joyful
face Raphael saw the crisis was over. Little Sampson handed the
manuscript to the foreman, then drawing a deep breath of relief, he
began to hum a sprightly march.

"I say, you're a nice chap!" he grumbled, cutting himself short with a
staccato that was not in the music.

"What have I done?" asked Raphael.

"Done? You've got me into a nice mess. The guvnor--the new guvnor, the
old guvnor, it seems--called the other day to fix things with me and
Pinchas. He asked me if I was satisfied to go on at the same screw. I
said he might make it two pound ten. 'What, more than double?' says he.
'No, only nine shillings extra,' says I, 'and for that I'll throw in
some foreign telegrams the late editor never cared for.' And then it
came out that he only knew of a sovereign, and fancied I was trying it
on."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Raphael, in deep scarlet distress.

"You must have been paying a guinea out of your own pocket!" said little
Sampson sharply.

Raphael's confusion increased. "I--I--didn't want it myself," he
faltered. "You see, it was paid me just for form, and