ill hand.

"How goes it?" he said cheerily.

"A trifle weak. But I shall be better soon."

He turned away. Zussmann whispered to him that the doctor who had been
called in that morning had found the crisis so threatening that he was
come again in the evening.

The Red Beadle, grown very white, accompanied the doctor downstairs,
and learned that with care the patient might pull through.

The Beadle felt like tearing out his red beard. "And to think that I
have not yet arranged the matter!" he thought distractedly.

He ran through the gray bleak night to the office of _The Flag of
Judah_; but as he was crossing the threshold he remembered that it was
the eve of the Sabbath, and that neither little Sampson nor anybody
else would be there. But little Sampson _was_ there, working busily.

"Hullo! Come in," he said, astonished.

The Red Beadle had already struck up a drinking acquaintanceship with
the little journalist, in view of the great negotiation he was
plotting. Not in vain did the proverbial wisdom of the Ghetto bid one
beware of the red-haired.

"I won't keep you five minutes," apologized little Sampson. "But, you
see, Christmas comes next week, and the compositors won't work. So I
have to invent the news in advance."

Presently little Sampson, lighting an unhallowed cigarette by way of
Sabbath lamp, and slinging on his shabby cloak, repaired with the Red
Beadle to a restaurant, where he ordered "forbidden" food for himself
and drinks for both.

The Red Beadle felt his way so cautiously and cunningly that the
negotiation was unduly prolonged. After an hour or two, however, all
was settled. For five pounds, paid in five monthly instalments, little
Sampson would translate _The Brotherhood of the Peoples_ into English,
provided the Beadle would tell him what the Hebrew meant. This the
Beadle, from his loving study of Hulda's manuscript, was now prepared
for. Little Sampson also promised to run the translation through _The
Flag of Judah_, and thus the Beadle could buy the plates cheap for
book purposes, with only the extra cost of printing such passages, if
any, as were too dangerous for _The Flag of Judah_. This unexpected
generosity, coupled with the new audience it offered the Idea,
enchanted the Red Beadle. He did not see that the journalist was
getting gratuitous "copy," he saw only the bliss of Hulda and
Zussmann, and in some strange exaltation, compact of whisky and
affection, he shared in their visi