'THE FLAG OF JUDAH'
The call to edit the new Jewish paper seemed to Raphael the voice of
Providence. It came just when he was hesitating about his future,
divided between the attractions of the ministry, pure Hebrew
scholarship, and philanthropy. The idea of a paper destroyed these
conflicting claims by comprehending them all. A paper would be at once
a pulpit, a medium for organising effective human service, and an
incentive to serious study in the preparation of scholarly articles.
The paper was to be the property of the Co-operative Kosher Society,
an association originally founded to supply unimpeachable Passover
cakes. It was suspected by the pious that there was a taint of heresy
in the flour used by the ordinary bakers, and it was remarked that the
Rabbinate itself imported its _Motsos_ from abroad. Successful in its
first object, the Co-operative Kosher Society extended its operations
to more perennial commodities, and sought to save Judaism from dubious
cheese and butter, as well as to provide public baths for women in
accordance with the precepts of Leviticus.
But these ideals were not so easy to achieve, and so gradually the
idea of a paper to preach them to a godless age formed itself. The
members of the Society met in Aaron Schlesinger's back office to
consider them. Schlesinger was a cigar-merchant, and the discussions
of the Society were invariably obscured by gratuitous smoke.
Schlesinger's junior partner, Lewis De Haan, who also had a separate
business as a surveyor, was the soul of the Society, and talked a
great deal. He was a stalwart old man, with a fine imagination and
figure, boundless optimism, a big biceps, a long venerable white
beard, a keen sense of humour, and a versatility which enabled him to
turn from the price of real estate to the elucidation of a Talmudical
difficulty, and from the consignment of cigars to the organisation of
apostolic movements. Among the leading spirits were our old friends
Karlkammer the red-haired zealot, Sugarman the Shadchan, and Guedalyah
the Greengrocer, together with Gradkoski the scholar, fancy-goods
merchant, and man of the world. A furniture-dealer, who was always
failing, was also an important personage; while Ebenezer Sugarman, a
young man who had once translated a romance from the Dutch, acted as
secretary. Melchitzedek Pinchas invariably turned up at the meetings,
and smoked Schlesinger's cigars. He was not a member; he had not
qualified himself by taking ten pound shares (far from fully paid up),
but nobody liked to eject him, and no hint less strong than a physical
would have moved the poet.
All the members of the council of the Co-operative Kosher Society
spoke English volubly, and more or less grammatically, but none had
sufficient confidence in the others to propose one of them for editor,
though it is possible that none would have shrunk from having a shot.
Diffidence is not a mark of the Jew. The claims of Ebenezer Sugarman
and of Melchitzedek Pinchas were put forth most vehemently by Ebenezer
and Melchitzedek respectively, and their mutual accusations of
incompetence enlivened Mr. Schlesinger's back office.
'He ain't able to spell the commonest English words,' said Ebenezer,
with a contemptuous guffaw that sounded like the croak of a raven.
The young litterateur, the sumptuousness of whose _Bar-mitzvah_ party
was still a memory with his father, had lank black hair, with a long
nose that supported blue spectacles.
'What does he know of the Holy Tongue?' croaked Melchitzedek
witheringly, adding in a confidential whisper to the cigar-merchant,
'I and you, Schlesinger, are the only two men in England who can write
the Holy Tongue grammatically.'
The little poet was as insinuative and volcanic (by turns) as ever.
His beard was, however, better trimmed, and his complexion healthier,
and he looked younger than ten years ago. His clothes were quite
spruce. For several years he had travelled about the Continent, mainly
at Raphael's expense. He said his ideas came better in touring and at
a distance from the unappreciative English Jewry. It was a pity, for
with his linguistic genius his English would have been immaculate by
this time. As it was, there was a considerable improvement in his
writing, if not so much in his accent.
'What do I know of the Holy Tongue!' repeated Ebenezer scornfully.
'Hold yours!'
The committee laughed, but Schlesinger, who was a serious man, said:
'Business, gentlemen, business!'
'Come, then! I'll challenge you to translate a page of _Metatoron's
Flames_,' said Pinchas, skipping about the office like a sprightly
grasshopper. 'You know no more than the Reverend Joseph Strelitski,
vith his vite tie and his princely income.'
De Haan seized the poet by the collar, swung him off his feet, and
tucked him up in the coal-scuttle.
'Yah!' croaked Ebenezer. 'Here's a fine editor. Ho! ho! ho!'
'We cannot have either of them. It's the only way to keep them quiet,'
said the furniture-dealer who was always failing.
Ebenezer's face fell and his voice rose.
'I don't see why I should be sacrificed to _'im_. There ain't a man in
England who can write English better than me. Why, everybody says so.
Look at the success of my book, _The Old Burgomaster_, the best Dutch
novel ever written. The _St. Pancras Press_ said it reminded them of
Lord Lytton--it did indeed. I can show you the paper. I can give you
one each if you like. And, then, it ain't as if I didn't know 'Ebrew,
too. Even if I was in doubt about anything, I could always go to my
father. You give me this paper to manage, and I'll make your fortunes
for you in a twelvemonth; I will, as sure as I stand here.'
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 vhere genius
starves. Here at last you have the opportunity of covering yourself
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 waistband, 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 neutralise 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 vant 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 insinuatively
alongside his nose. 'You vill remember that I expect a commission on
your salary.'
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
doorpost; 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.
'But how about meetings?' urged Raphael; 'I find that sometimes two
take place at once. I can go to one, but I can't be at both.'
'Oh, that will be all right,' said De Haan airily. 'We will leave out
one, and people will think it is unimportant. We are bringing out a
paper for our own ends--not to report the speeches of busybodies.'
Raphael was already exhibiting a conscientiousness which must be
nipped in the bud. Seeing him silenced, Ebenezer burst forth
anxiously:
'But Mr. Leon is right. There must be a sub-editor.'
'Certainly there must be a sub-editor,' cried Pinchas eagerly.
'Very well, then,' said De Haan, struck with a sudden thought; 'it is
true Mr. Leon cannot do all the work. I know a young fellow who'll be
just the very thing. He'll come for a pound a week.'
'But I'll come for a pound a week,' said Ebenezer.
'Yes, but you won't get it,' said Schlesinger impatiently.
'_Sha_, Ebenezer!' said old Sugarman imperiously.
De Haan thereupon hunted up a young gentleman who dwelt in his mind as
'Little Sampson,' and straightway secured him at the price named. He
was a lively young Bohemian, born in Australia, who had served an
apprenticeship on the Anglo-Jewish press, worked his way up into the
larger journalistic world without, and was now engaged in organising a
comic-opera touring company, and in drifting back again into Jewish
journalism. This young gentleman, who always wore long curling locks,
an eyeglass, and a romantic cloak which covered a multitude of
shabbinesses, fully allayed Raphael's fears as to the difficulties of
editorship.
'Obituaries!' he said scornfully; 'you rely on me for that. The people
who are worth chronicling are sure to have lived in the back numbers
of our contemporaries, and I can always hunt them up in the Museum. As
for the people who are not, their families will send them in, and your
only trouble will be to conciliate the families of those you ignore.'
'But about all those meetings?' said Raphael.
'I'll go to some,' said the sub-editor good-naturedly, 'whenever they
don't interfere with the rehearsals of my opera. You know, of course,
I am bringing out a comic opera, composed by myself. Some lovely tunes
in it! One goes like this: "Ta-ra-ra-ta, ta-dee-dum-dee." That'll
knock 'em. Well, as I was saying, I'll help you as much as I can find
time for. You rely on me for that.'
'Yes,' said poor Raphael, with a sickly smile; 'but suppose neither of
us goes to some important meeting.'
'No harm done. God bless you! I know the styles of all our chief
speakers--ahem, ha!--pauperisation of the East End, ha!--I would
emphatically say that this scheme--ahem!--his lordship's untiring zeal
for--hum!--the welfare of--and so on. Ta-dee-dum-da, ta-ra, rum-dee.
They always send on the agenda beforehand. That's all I want, and I'll
lay you twenty to one I'll turn out as good a report as any of our
rivals. You rely on me for _that_. I know exactly how debates go. At
the worst I can always swop with another reporter--a prize
distribution for an obituary; or a funeral for a concert.'
'And do you really think we two between us can fill up the paper every
week?' said Raphael doubtfully.
Little Sampson broke into a shriek of laughter, dropped his eyeglass,
and collapsed helplessly into the coal-scuttle. The committee-men
looked up from their confabulations in astonishment.
'Fill up the paper! Ho, ho, ho!' roared Little Sampson, still doubled
up. 'Evidently _you've_ never had anything to do with papers. Why, the
reports of London and provincial sermons alone would fill three papers
a week.'
'Yes; but how are we to get these reports, especially from the
provinces?'
'How? Ho, ho, ho!' and for some time Little Sampson was physically
incapable of speech. 'Don't you know,' he gasped, 'that the ministers
always send up their own sermons, pages upon pages of foolscap?'
'Indeed?' murmured Raphael.
'What, haven't you noticed all Jewish sermons are "eloquent"?'
'They write that themselves?'
'Of course; sometimes they put "able," and sometimes "learned," but
as a rule they prefer to be "eloquent." The run on that epithet is
tremendous. Ta-dee-dum-da. In holiday seasons they are also very fond
of "enthralling the audience," and of "melting them to tears"; but
this is chiefly during the Ten Days of Repentance, or when a boy is
_Bar-mitzvah_. Then think of the people who send in accounts of the
oranges they gave away to Distressed Widows, or of the prizes won by
their children at fourth-rate schools, or of the silver pointers they
present to the synagogue. Whenever a reader sends a letter to an
evening paper, he will want you to quote it, and if he writes a
paragraph in the obscurest leaflet, he will want you to note it as
"Literary Intelligence." Why, my dear fellow, your chief task will be
to cut down. Ta-ra-ra-ta! Any Jewish paper could be entirely supported
by voluntary contributions--as, for the matter of that, could any
newspaper in the world.' He got up and shook the coal-dust languidly
from his cloak.
'Besides, we shall all be helping you with articles,' said De Haan
encouragingly.
'Yes, we shall all be helping you,' said Ebenezer.
'I vill give you from the Pierian Spring--bucketsful,' said Pinchas in
a flush of generosity.
'Thank you, I shall be much obliged,' said Raphael heartily; 'for I
don't quite see the use of a paper filled up as Mr. Sampson suggests.'
He flung his arms out and drew them in again. It was a way he had when
in earnest. 'Then, I should like to have some foreign news. Where's
that to come from?'
'You rely on me for _that_,' said Little Sampson cheerfully. 'I will
write at once to all the chief Jewish papers in the world, French,
German, Dutch, Italian, Hebrew, and American, asking them to exchange
with us. There is never any dearth of foreign news. I translate a
thing from the Italian _Vessillo Israelitico_, and the _Israelitische
Nieuwsbode_ of Amsterdam copies it from us; _Der Israelit_ then
translates it into German, whence it gets into Hebrew, in _Hamagid_,
thence into _L'Univers Israelite_ of Paris, and thence into the
_American Hebrew_. When I see it in American, not having to translate
it, it strikes me as fresh, and so I transfer it bodily to our
columns, whence it gets translated into Italian, and so the
merry-go-round goes eternally on. Ta-dee-rum-day. You rely on me for
your foreign news. Why, I can get you foreign telegrams if you'll only
allow me to stick "Trieste, December 21," or things of that sort at
the top. Ti-tum, tee-ti.' He went on humming a sprightly air, then
suddenly interrupting himself, he said, 'But have you got an
advertisement canvasser, Mr. De Haan?'
'No, not yet,' said De Haan, turning round. The committee had resolved
itself into animated groups, dotted about the office, each group
marked by a smoke-drift. The clerks were still writing the ten
thousand wrappers, swearing inaudibly.
'Well, when are you going to get him?'
'Oh, we shall have advertisements rolling in of themselves,' said De
Haan, with a magnificent sweep of the arm. 'And we shall all assist in
that department. Help yourself to another cigar, Sampson.' And he
passed Schlesinger's box. Raphael and Karlkammer were the only two men
in the room not smoking cigars--Raphael because he preferred his pipe,
and Karlkammer for some more mystic reason.
'We must not ignore Cabbalah,' the zealot's voice was heard to
observe.
'You can't get advertisements by Cabbalah,' dryly interrupted
Guedalyah the Greengrocer, a practical man, as everybody knew.
'No, indeed,' protested Sampson. 'The advertisement canvasser is a
more important man than the editor.'
Ebenezer pricked up his ears.
'I thought _you_ undertook to do some canvassing for your money,' said
De Haan.
'So I will, so I will; rely on me for that. I shouldn't be surprised
if I get the capitalists who are backing up my opera to give you the
advertisements of the tour, and I'll do all I can in my spare time.
But I feel sure you'll want another man--only you must pay him well
and give him a good commission. It'll pay you best in the long-run to
have a good man, there are so many seedy duffers about,' said Little
Sampson, drawing his faded cloak loftily around him. 'You want an
eloquent, persuasive man, with a gift of the gab----'
'Didn't I tell you so?' interrupted Pinchas, putting his finger to his
nose. 'I vill go to the advertisers and speak burning words to them. I
vill----'
'Garn! They'd kick you out!' croaked Ebenezer. 'They'll only listen to
an Englishman.' His coarse-featured face glistened with spite.
'My Ebenezer has a good appearance,' said old Sugarman, 'and his
English is fine, and dat is half de battle.'
Schlesinger, appealed to, intimated that Ebenezer might try, but that
they could not well spare him any percentage at the start. After much
haggling, Ebenezer consented to waive his commission if the committee
would consent to allow an original tale of his to appear in the paper.
The stipulation having been agreed to, he capered joyously about the
office, and winked periodically at Pinchas from behind the battery of
his blue spectacles. The poet was, however, rapt in a discussion as to
the best printer. The committee were for having Gluck, who had done
odd jobs for most of them; but Pinchas launched into a narrative of
how, when he edited a great organ in Buda-Pesth, he had effected vast
economies by starting a little printing office of his own in
connection with the paper.
'You vill set up a little establishment,' he said. 'I vill manage it
for a few pounds a veek. Then I vill not only print your paper--I vill
get you large profits from extra printing. Vith a man of great
business talent at the head of it----'
De Haan made a threatening movement, and Pinchas edged away from the
proximity of the coal-scuttle.
'Gluck's our printer!' said De Haan peremptorily. 'He has Hebrew type.
We shall want a lot of that. We must have a lot of Hebrew
quotations--not spell Hebrew words in English like the other papers.
And the Hebrew date must come before the English. The public must see
at once that our principles are superior. Besides, Gluck's a Jew,
which will save us from the danger of having any of the printing done
on Saturdays.'
'But shan't we want a publisher?' asked Sampson.
'That's vat I say,' cried Pinchas. 'If I set up this office, I can be
your publisher, too. Ve must do things business-like.'
'Nonsense, nonsense! We are our own publishers,' said De Haan. 'Our
clerks will send out the invoices and the subscription copies, and an
extra office-boy can sell the papers across the counter.'
Sampson smiled in his sleeve.
'All right. That will do--for the first number,' he said cordially.
'Ta-ra-ra-ta.'
'Now then, Mr. Leon, everything is settled,' said De Haan, stroking
his beard briskly. 'I think I'll ask you to help us to draw up the
posters. We shall cover all London, sir--all London.'
'But wouldn't that be wasting money?' said Raphael.
'Oh, we're going to do the thing properly. I don't believe in
meanness.'
'It'll be enough if we cover the East End,' said Schlesinger dryly.
'Quite so. The East End _is_ London, as far as we are concerned,' said
De Haan readily.
Raphael took the pen and the paper which De Haan tendered him, and
wrote '_The Flag of Judah_,' the title having been fixed at their
first interview.
'The only orthodox paper!' dictated De Haan. 'Largest circulation of
any Jewish paper in the world!'
'No, how can we say that?' said Raphael, pausing.
'No, of course not,' said De Haan. 'I was thinking of the subsequent
posters. Look out for the first number--on Friday, January 1st! The
best Jewish writers! The truest Jewish teachings! Latest Jewish news,
and finest Jewish stories! Every Friday, twopence.'
'Twopence?' echoed Raphael, looking up. 'I thought you wanted to
appeal to the masses. I should say it must be a penny.'
'It _will_ be a penny,' said De Haan oracularly.
'We have thought it all over,' interposed Gradkoski. 'The first number
will be bought up out of curiosity whether at a penny or at twopence.
The second will go almost as well, for people will be anxious to see
how it compares with the first. In that number we shall announce that,
owing to the enormous success, we have been able to reduce it to a
penny. Meantime, we make all the extra pennies.'
'I see,' said Raphael dubiously.
'We must have _Chochmah_,' said De Haan. 'Our sages recommend that.'
Raphael still had his doubts, but he had also a painful sense of his
lack of the 'practical wisdom' recommended by the sages cited. He
thought these men were probably in the right. Even religion could not
be pushed on the masses without business methods--and so long as they
were in earnest about the doctrines to be preached, he could even feel
a dim admiration for their superior shrewdness in executing a task in
which he himself would have hopelessly broken down. Raphael's mind was
large, and larger by being conscious of its cloistral limitations. And
the men were in earnest; not even their most intimate friends could
call this into question.
'We are going to save London,' De Haan put it in one of his
dithyrambic moments. 'Orthodoxy has too long been voiceless, and yet
it is five-sixths of Judea. A small minority has had all the say. We
must redress the balance. We must plead the cause of the People
against the Few.'
Raphael's breast throbbed with similar hopes. His Messianic emotions
resurged. Sugarman's solicitous request that he should buy a Hamburg
lottery ticket scarcely penetrated his consciousness. Carrying the
copy of the poster, he accompanied De Haan to Gluck's. It was a small
shop in a back street, with Jargon papers and handbills in the window,
and a pervasive heavy oleaginous odour. A hand-press occupied the
centre of the interior, the back of which was partitioned off, and
marked 'private.' Gluck came forward, grinning welcome. He wore an
unkempt beard and a dusky apron.
'Can you undertake to print an eight-page paper?' inquired De Haan.
'If I can print at all, I can print anything,' responded Gluck
reproachfully. 'How many shall you want?'
'It's the orthodox paper we've been planning so long,' said De Haan
evasively.
Gluck nodded his head.
'There are seventy thousand orthodox Jews in London alone,' said De
Haan with rotund enunciation. 'So you see what you may have to print.
It'll be worth your while to do it extra cheap.'
Gluck agreed readily, naming a low figure. After half an hour's
discussion it was reduced by ten per cent.
'Good-bye, then,' said De Haan. 'So let it stand. We shall start with
a thousand copies of the first number, but where we shall end, the
Holy One--blessed be He!--alone knows. I will now leave you and the
editor to talk over the rest. To-day's Monday. We must have the first
number out by Friday week. Can you do that, Mr. Leon?'
'Oh, that will be ample,' said Raphael, shooting out his arms.
He did not remain of that opinion. Never had he gone through such an
awful, anxious time, not even in his preparations for the stiffest
exams. He worked sixteen hours a day at the paper. The only evening he
allowed himself off was when he dined with Mrs. Henry Goldsmith and
met Esther. First numbers invariably take twice as long to produce as
second numbers, even in the best regulated establishments. All sorts
of mysterious sticks and leads and founts and formes are found wanting
at the eleventh hour. As a substitute for grey hair-dye, there is
nothing in the market to compete with the production of first numbers.
But in Gluck's establishment these difficulties were multiplied by a
hundred. Gluck spent a great deal of time in going round the corner to
get something from a brother printer. It took enormous time to get a
proof of any article out of Gluck.
'My men are so careful,' Gluck explained. 'They don't like to pass
anything till it's free from typos.'
The men must have been highly disappointed, for the proofs were
invariably returned bristling with corrections and having a highly
hieroglyphic appearance. Then Gluck would go in and slang his men. He
kept them behind the partition painted 'Private.'
The fatal Friday drew nearer and nearer. By Thursday not a single page
had been made up. Still Gluck pointed out that there were only eight,
and the day was long. Raphael had not the least idea in the world how
to make up a paper, but about eleven Little Sampson kindly strolled
into Gluck's and explained to his editor his own method of pasting the
proofs on sheets of paper of the size of the pages. He even made up
one page himself to a blithe vocal accompaniment. When the busy
composer and acting-manager hurried off to conduct a rehearsal,
Raphael expressed his gratitude warmly. The hours flew; the paper
evolved as by geologic stages. As the fateful day wore on, Gluck was
scarcely visible for a moment. Raphael was left alone eating his heart
out in the shop, and solacing himself with huge whiffs of smoke. At
immense intervals Gluck appeared from behind the partition bearing a
page or a galley-slip. He said his men could not be trusted to do
their work unless he was present. Raphael replied that he had not seen
the compositors come through the shop to get their dinners, and he
hoped Gluck would not find it necessary to cut off their meal-times.
Gluck reassured him on this point; he said his men were so loyal that
they preferred to bring their food with them rather than have the
paper delayed. Later on he casually mentioned that there was a back
entrance. He would not allow Raphael to talk to his workmen
personally, arguing that it spoiled their discipline. By eleven
o'clock at night seven pages had been pulled and corrected, but the
eighth page was not forthcoming. The _Flag_ had to be machined, dried,
folded, and a number of copies put into wrappers and posted by three
in the morning. The situation looked desperate. At a quarter to twelve
Gluck explained that a column of matter already set up had been 'pied'
by a careless compositor. It happened to be the column containing the
latest news, and Raphael had not even seen a proof of it. Still,
Gluck conjured him not to trouble further; he would give his reader
strict injunctions not to miss the slightest error. Raphael had
already seen and passed the first column of this page, let him leave
it to Gluck to attend to this second column; all would be well without
his remaining later, and he would receive a copy of the _Flag_ by the
first post. The poor editor, whose head was splitting, weakly yielded;
he just caught the midnight train to the West End, and he went to bed
feeling happy and hopeful.
At seven o'clock the next morning the whole Leon household was aroused
by a thunderous double rat-tat at the door. Addie was even heard to
scream. A housemaid knocked at Raphael's door and pushed a telegram
under it. Raphael jumped out of bed, and read:
'Third of column more matter wanted. Come at once.--GLUCK.'
'How can that be?' he asked himself in consternation. 'If the latest
news made a column when it was first set up before the accident, how
can it make less now?'
He dashed up to Gluck's office in a hansom and put the conundrum to
him.
'You see, we had no time to distribute the "pie," and we had no more
type of that kind, so we had to reset it smaller,' answered Gluck
glibly.
His eyes were bloodshot; his face was haggard. The door of the private
compartment stood open.
'Your men are not come yet, I suppose,' said Raphael.
'No,' said Gluck. 'They didn't go away till two, poor fellows! Is that
the copy?' he asked as Raphael handed him a couple of slips he had
distractedly scribbled in the cab under the heading of 'Talmudic
Tales.' 'Thank you; it's just about the size. I shall have to set it
myself.'
'But won't we be terribly late?' said poor Raphael.
'We shall be out to-day,' responded Gluck cheerfully. 'We shall be in
time for the Sabbath, and that's the important thing. Don't you see
they're half printed already?' He indicated a huge pile of sheets.
Raphael examined them with beating heart. 'We've only to print 'em on
the other side and the thing's done,' said Gluck.
'Where are your machines?'
'There,' said Gluck, pointing.
'That hand-press!' said Raphael, astonished. 'Do you mean to say you
print them all with your own hand?'
'Why not?' said the dauntless Gluck. 'I shall wrap them up for the
post, too.' And he shut himself up with the last of the 'copy.'
Raphael, having exhausted his interest in the half-paper, fell to
striding about the little shop, when who should come in but Pinchas,
smoking a cigar of the Schlesinger brand!
'Ah, my prince of Redacteurs,' said Pinchas, darting at Raphael's hand
and kissing it. 'Did I not say you vould produce the finest paper in
the kingdom? But vy have I not my copy by post? You must not listen to
Ebenezer ven he says I must not be on the free list, the blackguard!'
Raphael explained to the incredulous poet that Ebenezer had not said
anything of the kind. Suddenly Pinchas's eye caught sight of the
sheets. He swooped down upon them like a hawk. Then he uttered a
shriek of grief.
'Vere's my poem, my great poesie?'
Raphael looked embarrassed.
'This is only half the paper,' he said evasively.
'Ha, then it vill appear in the other half, _hein_?' he said, with
hope tempered by a terrible suspicion.
'N-n-o,' stammered Raphael timidly.
'No?' shrieked Pinchas.
'You see--the--the fact is, it wouldn't scan. Your Hebrew poetry is
perfect, but English poetry is made rather differently, and I've been
too busy to correct it.'
'But it is exactly like Lord Byron's!' shrieked Pinchas. 'Mein Gott!
All night I lie avake, vaiting for the post. At eight o'clock the post
comes, but the _Flag of Judah_ she vaves not. I rush round here, and
now my beautiful poem vill not appear!' He seized the sheet again,
then cried fiercely: 'You have a tale, "The Waters of Babylon," by
Ebenezer the fool-boy, but my poesie have you not. _Gott in Himmel!_'
He tore the sheet frantically across, and rushed from the shop. In
five minutes he reappeared. Raphael was absorbed in reading the last
proof. Pinchas plucked timidly at his coat-tails. 'You vill put it in
next veek?' he said winningly.
'I dare say,' said Raphael gently.
'Ah, promise me! I vill love you like a brother. I vill be grateful to
you for ever and ever. I vill never ask another favour of you in all
my life. Ve are already like brothers--_hein?_--I and you, the only
two men----'
'Yes, yes,' interrupted Raphael. 'It shall appear next week.'
'God bless you!' said Pinchas, kissing Raphael's coat-tails
passionately and rushing without.
Looking up accidentally some minutes afterwards, Raphael was
astonished to see the poet's grinning head thrust through the
half-open door with a finger laid insinuatingly on the side of the
nose. The head was fixed there as if petrified, waiting to catch the
editor's eye.
The first number of _The Flag of Judah_ appeared early in the
afternoon.