,
no introduction, no recommendation for it. Poverty has very
seldom a few clement humane good people and little friends.
The people say Jacobs the dentist of Mansel Place is not a
good man, and so it is I tried it for he makes the impossible
competition. I ask Your good genteel cordial nobility
according to the universal good reputation of Your gracious
goodness to reply me quick by some help now.

'Your obedient Servant respectfully,
'NEHEMIAH SILVERMANN,
'_Dentist and Restaurateur._'

This letter threw a new but not reassuring light upon the situation.
Instead of being a victim of the Russian troubles, a recent refugee
from massacre and robbery, Nehemiah had already existed in London for
ten years, and although he might originally have been ruined by
Russia, he had survived his ruin by a decade. His ideas of his future
seemed as hazy as his past. Four pounds would be a very present help;
he could continue his London career. With fifteen pounds he was ready
to start off anywhither. With thirty pounds he would end all his
troubles in Jerusalem. Such nebulousness appeared to necessitate a
personal visit, and the next day, finding himself in bad form,
Barstein angrily bashed in a clay visage, clapped on his hat, and
repaired to the Minories. But he looked in vain for either a dentist
or a restaurant at No. 3A. It appeared a humble corner residence,
trying to edge itself into the important street. At last, after
wandering uncertainly up and down, he knocked at the shabby door. A
frowsy woman with long earrings opened it staring, and said that the
Silvermanns occupied two rooms on her second floor.

'What!' cried Barstein. 'Is he married?'

'I should hope so,' replied the landlady severely. 'He has eleven
children at least.'

Barstein mounted the narrow carpetless stairs, and was received by
Mrs. Silvermann and her brood with much consternation and ceremony.
The family filled the whole front room and overflowed into the back,
which appeared to be a sort of kitchen, for Mrs. Silvermann had rushed
thence with tucked-up sleeves, and sounds of frying still proceeded
from it. But Mr. Silvermann was not at home, the small, faded,
bewigged creature told him apologetically. Barstein looked curiously
round the room, half expecting indications of dentistry or dining. But
he saw only a minimum of broken-down furniture, bottomless cane
chairs, a wooden t