Raphael smiled good-naturedly and, turning to De Haan, said:  “But do you think there is any hope of a circulation?”

“A circulation, sir, a circulation!” repeated De Haan.  “Why, we shall not be able to print fast enough.  There are seventy-thousand orthodox Jews in London alone.”

“And besides,” added Gradkoski, in a corroboration strongly like a contradiction, “we shall not have to rely on the circulation.  Newspapers depend on their advertisements.”

“Do they?” said Raphael, helplessly.

“Of course,” said Gradkoski with his air of worldly wisdom, “And don’t you see, being a religious paper we are bound to get all the communal advertisements.  Why, we get the Co-operative Kosher Society to start with.”

“Yes, but we ain’t:  going to pay for that,"’ said Sugarman the Shadchan.

“That doesn’t matter,” said De Haan.  “It’ll look well—­we can fill up a whole page with it.  You know what Jews are—­they won’t ask ’is this paper wanted?’ they’ll balance it in their hand, as if weighing up the value of the advertisements, and ask ‘does it pay?’ But it will pay, it must pay; with you at the head of it, Mr. Leon, a man whose fame and piety are known and respected wherever a Mezuzah adorns a door-post, a man who is in sympathy with the East End, and has the ear of the West, a man who will preach the purest Judaism in the best English, with such a man at the head of it, we shall be able to ask bigger prices for advertisements than the existing Jewish papers.”

Raphael left the office in a transport of enthusiasm, full of Messianic emotions.  At the next meeting he announced that he was afraid he could not undertake the charge of the paper.  Amid universal consternation, tempered by the exultation of Ebenezer, he explained that he had been thinking it over and did not see how it could be done.  He said he had been carefully studying the existing communal organs, and saw that they dealt with many matters of which he knew nothing; whilst he might be competent to form the taste of the community in religious and literary matters, it appeared that the community was chiefly excited about elections and charities.  “Moreover,” said he, “I noticed that it is expected of these papers to publish obituaries of communal celebrities, for whose biographies no adequate materials are anywhere extant.  It would scarcely be decent to obtrude upon the sacred grief of the bereaved relatives with a request for particulars.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” laughed De Haan.  “I’m sure my wife would be glad to give you any information.”

“Of course, of course,” said Gradkoski, soothingly.  “You will get the obituaries sent in of themselves by the relatives.”

Raphael’s brow expressed surprise and incredulity.

“And besides, we are not going to crack up the same people as the other papers,” said De Haan; “otherwise we should not supply a want.  We must dole out our praise and blame quite differently, and we must be very scrupulous to give only a little praise so that it shall be valued the more.”  He stroked his white, beard tranquilly.