y, the paper had all their photographs!'

'What paper?' said Simon, laughing. 'Do you suppose he reads the
Jewish what's-a-name, like you? Why, he's never heard of it!'

'Then you ought to show him a copy.'

'Oh, mother!' and he laughed again. 'That would only prove to him
there are too many Jews everywhere.'

A cloud began to spread over Mrs. Cohn's hard-won content. But
apparently it only shadowed her own horizon. Simon was as happily full
of his Lucy as ever.

Nevertheless, there came a Sunday evening when Simon returned from
Harrow earlier than his wont, and Hannah's dog-like eye noted that the
cloud had at last reached his brow.

'You have had a quarrel?' she cried.

'Only with the old boy.'

'But what about?'

'The old driveller has just joined some League of Londoners for the
suppression of the immigrant alien.'

'But you should have told him we all agree there should be
decentralization,' said Mrs. Cohn, quoting her favourite Jewish
organ.

'It isn't that--it's the old fellow's vanity that's hurt. You see, he
composed the "Appeal to the Briton," and gloated over it so
conceitedly that I couldn't help pointing out the horrible
contradictions.'

'But Lucy----' his mother began anxiously.

'Lucy's a brick. I don't know what my life would have been without the
little darling. But listen, mother.' And he drew out a portentous
prospectus. 'They say aliens should not be admitted unless they
produce a certificate of industrial capacity, and in the same breath
they accuse them of taking the work away from the British workman. Now
this isn't a Jewish question, and I didn't raise it as such--just a
piece of muddle--and even as an Englishman I can't see how we can
exclude Outlanders here after fighting for the Outland----'

'But Lucy----' his mother interrupted.

His vehement self-assertion passed into an affectionate smile.

'Lucy was dimpling all over her face. She knows the old boy's vanity.
Of course she couldn't side with me openly.'

'But what will happen? Will you go there again?'

The cloud returned to his brow. 'Oh, well, we'll see.'

A letter from Lucy saved him the trouble of deciding the point.

'DEAR SILLY OLD SIM,' it ran,

'Father has been going on dreadfully, so you had better wait a
few Sundays till he has cooled down. After all, you yourself
admit there is a grievance of congestion and high rents in the
East End. And it is only natural--isn't it?--that after