eeting. His
landlord had forbidden any more gatherings in the inn, and his
original audience would have called as a deputation upon David to beg
him to withdraw from the town, but that might have been considered a
conspirative meeting. So one of the Ambassadors was sent to inform the
landlord instead.

'Don't you think I've already ordered him off my premises?'

'But he is still here!'

'Alas! He threatens to shoot me--or anybody who _massers_ (informs),'
said the poor landlord.

The Ambassador shivered.

'As if I would betray a brother-in-Israel!' added the landlord
reproachfully.

'No, no--of course not,' said the Ambassador. 'These fellows are best
left alone; they wear fuses under their waistcoats instead of
_Tsitsith_ (ritual fringes). Let us hope, however, a sudden death may
rid us of him.'

'Amen,' said the landlord fervently.

Not that David had any reason for clinging to so squalid a hostel. But
his blood was up, and he took a malicious pleasure in inflicting his
perilous presence upon his prudential host.

Reduced now to buttonholing individuals, he consoled himself with the
thought that the population was best tackled by units. One fool or
coward was enough to infect or betray a whole gathering.

Still intent on the sinews of war, he sallied out after breakfast, and
approached Erbstein the Banker. Erbstein held up his hands. 'But I've
just given a thousand roubles to guard us from a _pogrom_!'

'That was for the Governor. Give me only a hundred for Self-Defence.'

The Banker puffed tranquilly at his big cigar. 'But our rights are
bound to come in the end. We can only get them gradually. Full rights
now are nonsense--impossible. It is bad tactics to ask for what you
cannot get. Only in common with Russia can our emancipation----'

'I am not talking of our rights, but of our lives.' David grew
impatient.

Being a Banker, Erbstein never listened, though he invariably replied.
His success in finance had made him an authority upon religion and
politics.

'Trust the Octobrists,' he said cheerily.

'I'd rather trust our revolvers.'

The Banker's cigar fell from his mouth.

'An anarchist! like my nephew Simon!'

David began to realize the limitations of the financial intellect. He
saw that to get ideas into Bankers' brains is even more difficult than
to get cheques from their pockets. Still, there was that promising
scapegrace Simon! He hurried out on his scent, and ran him to earth in
a co