Pinchas had made spluttering interruptions as frequently as he could in resistance of De Haan’s brawny, hairy hand which was pressed against his nose and mouth to keep him down in the coal-scuttle, but now he exploded with a force that shook off the hand like a bottle of soda water expelling its cork.

“You Man-of-the-Earth,” he cried, sitting up in the coal-scuttle.  “You are not even orthodox.  Here, my dear gentlemen, is the very position created by Heaven for me—­in this disgraceful country where genius starves.  Here at last you have the opportunity of covering yourselves vid eternal glory.  Have I not given you the idea of starting this paper?  And vas I not born to be a Redacteur, a Editor, as you call it?  Into the paper I vill pour all the fires of my song—­”

“Yes, burn it up,” croaked Ebenezer.

“I vill lead the Freethinkers and the Reformers back into the fold.  I vill be Elijah and my vings shall be quill pens.  I vill save Judaism.”  He started up, swelling, but De Haan caught him by his waistcoat and readjusted him in the coal-scuttle.

“Here, take another cigar, Pinchas,” he said, passing Schlesinger’s private box, as if with a twinge of remorse for his treatment of one he admired as a poet though he could not take him seriously as a man.

The discussion proceeded; the furniture-dealer’s counsel was followed; it was definitely decided to let the two candidates neutralize each other.

“Vat vill you give me, if I find you a Redacteur?” suddenly asked Pinchas.  “I give up my editorial seat—­”

“Editorial coal-scuttle,” growled Ebenezer.

“Pooh!  I find you a first-class Redacteur who vill not want a big salary; perhaps he vill do it for nothing.  How much commission vill you give me?”

“Ten shillings on every pound if he does not want a big salary,” said De Haan instantly, “and twelve and sixpence on every pound if he does it for nothing.”

And Pinchas, who was easily bamboozled when finance became complex, went out to find Raphael.

Thus at the next meeting the poet produced Raphael in triumph, and Gradkoski, who loved a reputation for sagacity, turned a little green with disgust at his own forgetfulness.  Gradkoski was among those founders of the Holy Land League with whom Raphael had kept up relations, and he could not deny that the young enthusiast was the ideal man for the post.  De Haan, who was busy directing the clerks to write out ten thousand wrappers for the first number, and who had never heard of Raphael before, held a whispered confabulation with Gradkoski and Schlesinger and in a few moments Raphael was rescued from obscurity and appointed to the editorship of the Flag of Judah at a salary of nothing a year.  De Haan immediately conceived a vast contemptuous admiration of the man.

“You von’t forget me,” whispered Pinchas, buttonholing the editor at the first opportunity, and placing his forefinger insinuatingly alongside his nose.  “You vill remember that I expect a commission on your salary.”