Perceval Gibbon

“ The Old Man's brows drew down and he considered. He waved a hand to Levi, who brought him a chair, and he sat down before Manasseh. The two regarded one another with that wary hostility which animates the real commerce. Levi, standing by, felt his pulses quicken, as if he were watching two dread forces give battle.
"It is not the moment for us to move," said the Old Man at last. "The work is not ripe. You know that?"
"But those who guard my son?" queried Manasseh. "Is there no weak point there? ”

“ The Old Man turned and began to walk the room with his hands clasped behind him.
"The merchant knows the worth of his wares," he said, slowly. "Yours is a good son, Manasseh?"
"Yes," said Manasseh. "He is all my heart and life."
The Old Man sighed. "Well, then," he said,—and Levi saw the glint of his sidelong eyes as he spoke—"you must have him."
"Pouff!" Manasseh snorted. "You make me chill with fear," he said, "for I know the last word is not yet said. What a cursed business is this being a Jew, that we traffic in subtlety while graves are being dug! ”

“ Each time he had come away baffled, and haunted by the power and assurance of that serene Old Man who heard him in silence and answered with a single no. As he stepped from his carriage at the church steps, the beggars who were assembled there for his yearly largesse saw how he looked round him ere he entered the building. They knew what he feared to see. To them, bedded in the slime of life, there trickled the truth that those above them never heard. The dreadful beggars of a Russian town, the blind, the crazed, the leprous, are the confidants and the judges of all. ”