THE KING OF SCHNORRERS. 40
"What is that you are saying, Mr. da Costa?" asked the hostess.
" Oh, we are talking of Dan Mendoza," replied Grobstock glibly ; " wondering if he'll beat Dick Humphreys at Don- caster."
" Oh, Joseph, didn't you have enough of Dan Mendoza at supper last night?" protested his wife.
" It is not a subject /ever talk about," said the Schnor- re7' y fixing his host with a reproachful glance.
Grobstock desperately touched his foot under the table, knowing he was selling his soul to the King of Schnorrers, but too flaccid to face the moment.
" No, da Costa doesn't usually," he admitted. " Only Dan Mendoza being a Portuguese I happened to ask if he was ever seen in the Synagogue."
" If I had my way," growled da Costa, " he should be excommunicated — a bruiser, a defacer of God's image ! "
" By gad, no ! " cried Grobstock, stirred up. " If you had seen him lick the Badger in thirty-five minutes on a twenty-four foot stage — "
"Joseph ! Joseph ! Remember it is the Sabbath ! " cried Mrs. Grobstock.
" I would willingly exchange our Dan Mendoza for your David Levi," said da Costa severely.
David Levi was the literary ornament of the Ghetto ; a shoe-maker and hat-dresser who cultivated Hebrew philology and the Muses, and broke a lance in defence of his creed with Dr. Priestley, the discoverer of Oxygen, and Tom Paine, the discoverer of Reason.
" Pshaw ! David Levi ! The mad hatter ! " cried Grob- stock. " He makes nothing at all out of his books."
"You should subscribe for more copies," retorted Ma- nasseh.
