“Bother that!” returned Fledgeby. “You know what I mean. You’d persuade me if you could, that you are a poor Jew. I wish you’d confess how much you really did make out of my late governor. I should have a better opinion of you.”

The old man only bent his head, and stretched out his hands as before.

“Don’t go on posturing like a Deaf and Dumb School,” said the ingenious Fledgeby, “but express yourself like a Christian⁠—or as nearly as you can.”

“I had had sickness and misfortunes, and was so poor,” said the old man, “as hopelessly to owe the father, principal and interest. The son inheriting, was so merciful as to forgive me both, and place me here.”

He made a little gesture as though he kissed the hem of an imaginary garment worn by the noble youth before him. It was humbly done, but picturesquely, and was not abasing to the doer.