At first he declared he would put down the money immediately after the ceremony.  But the wary Sugarman, schooled by experience, demanded its instant delivery on behalf of his other client.  Hard pressed, Eliphaz produced ten sovereigns from his trousers-pocket, and tendered them on account.  These Sugarman disdainfully refused, and the negotiations were suspended.  The bridegroom’s party was encamped in one room, the bride’s in another, and after a painful delay Eliphaz sent an emissary to say that half the amount should be forthcoming, the extra five pounds in a bright new Bank of England note.  Leibel, instructed and encouraged by Sugarman, stood firm.

And then arose a hubbub of voices, a chaos of suggestions; friends rushed to and fro between the camps, some emerging from their seats in the synagogue to add to the confusion.  But Eliphaz had taken his stand upon a rock—­he had no more ready money.  To-morrow, the next day, he would have some.  And Leibel, pale and dogged, clutched tighter at those machines that were slipping away momently from him.  He had not yet seen his bride that morning, and so her face was shadowy compared with the tangibility of those machines.  Most of the other maidens were married women by now, and the situation was growing desperate.  From the female camp came terrible rumours of bridesmaids in hysterics, and a bride that tore her wreath in a passion of shame and humiliation.  Eliphaz sent word that he would give an I O U for the balance, but that he really could not muster any more current coin.  Sugarman instructed the ambassador to suggest that Eliphaz should raise the money among his friends.

And the short spring day slipped away.  In vain the minister, apprised of the block, lengthened out the formulae for the other pairs, and blessed them with more reposeful unction.  It was impossible to stave off the Leibel-Green item indefinitely, and at last Rose remained the only orange-wreathed spinster in the synagogue.  And then there was a hush of solemn suspense, that swelled gradually into a steady rumble of babbling tongues, as minute succeeded minute and the final bridal party still failed to appear.  The latest bulletin pictured the bride in a dead faint.  The afternoon was waning fast.  The minister left his post near the canopy, under which so many lives had been united, and came to add his white tie to the forces for compromise.  But he fared no better than the others.  Incensed at the obstinacy of the antagonists, he declared he would close the synagogue.  He gave the couple ten minutes to marry in or quit.  Then chaos came, and pandemonium—­a frantic babel of suggestion and exhortation from the crowd.  When five minutes had passed a legate from Eliphaz announced that his side had scraped together twenty pounds, and that this was their final bid.

Leibel wavered; the long day’s combat had told upon him; the reports of the bride’s distress had weakened him.  Even Sugarman had lost his cocksureness of victory.  A few minutes more and both commissions might slip through his fingers.  Once the parties left the synagogue, it would not be easy to drive them there another day.  But he cheered on his man still:  one could always surrender at the tenth minute.