“Oh, no!” said Pinchas.  “It was vair beautiful; sharp as de sting of de hornet.  But vat can you expect?  Christ suffered.  All great benefactors suffer.  Am I happy?  But it is only your own foolishness that you must tank if dere is dissension in de camp.  De Gomorah says ve muz be vize, chocham, ve muz haf tact.  See vat you haf done.  You haf frighten avay de ortodox fool-men.  Dey are oppressed, dey sweat—­but dey tink deir God make dem sweat.  Why you tell dem, no?  Vat mattairs?  Free dem from hunger and tirst first, den freedom from deir fool-superstitions vill come of itself.  Jeshurun vax fat and kick?  Hey?  You go de wrong vay.”

“Do you mean I’m to pretend to be froom,” said Simon Wolf.

“And ven?  Vat mattairs?  You are a fool, man.  To get to de goal one muz go crooked vays.  Ah, you have no stadesmanship.  You frighten dem.  You lead processions vid bands and banners on Shabbos to de Shools.  Many who vould be glad to be delivered by you tremble for de heavenly lightning.  Dey go not in de procession.  Many go when deir head is on fire—­afterwards, dey take fright and beat deir breasts.  Vat vill happen?  De ortodox are de majority; in time dere vill come a leader who vill be, or pretend to be, ortodox as veil as socialist.  Den vat become of you?  You are left vid von, two, tree ateists—­not enough to make Minyan.  No, ve muz be chocham, ve muz take de men as ve find dem.  God has made two classes of men—­vise-men and fool-men.  Dere! is one vise-man to a million fool-men—­and he sits on deir head and dey support him.  If dese fool-men vant to go to Shool and to fast on Yom Kippur, vat for you make a feast of pig and shock dem, so dey not believe in your socialism?  Ven you vant to eat pig, you do it here, like ve do now, in private.  In public, ve spit out ven ve see pig.  Ah, you are a fool-man.  I am a stadesman, a politician.  I vill be de Machiavelli of de movement.”

“Ah, Pinchas, you are a devil of a chap,” said Wolf, laughing.  “And yet you say you are the poet of patriotism and Palestine.”

“Vy not?  Vy should we lif here in captivity?  Vy we shall not have our own state—­and our own President, a man who combine deep politic vid knowledge of Hebrew literature and de pen of a poet.  No, let us fight to get back our country—­ve vill not hang our harps on the villows of Babylon and veep—­ve vill take our swords vid Ezra and Judas Maccabaeus, and—­”

“One thing at a time, Pinchas,” said Simon Wolf.  “At present, we have to consider how to distribute these food-tickets.  The committee-men are late; I wonder if there has been any fighting at the centres, where they have been addressing meetings.”

“Ah, dat is anoder point,” said Pinchas.  “Vy you no let me address meetings—­not de little ones in de street, but de great ones in de hall of de Club?  Dere my vords vould rush like de moundain dorrents, sveeping avay de corruptions.  But you let all dese fool-men talk.  You know, Simon, I and you are de only two persons in de East-End who speak Ainglish properly.”