"When you have quite finished," said Mr. Whimpole, coldly, "we will proceed."
"Excuse me," said Aaron, drawing a deep breath of enjoyment. "I beg you will not consider me wanting in politeness, but I have the instincts of my race, and I never waste the smallest trifle, not even a joke." A little tuft of hair which ran down the centre of Mr. Whimpole's head--the right and left banks of which were devoid of verdure--quivered in sympathy with the proprietor's astonishment. That a man should make a joke out of that which was generally considered to be a reproach and a humiliation was, indeed, matter for amazement; nay, in this instance for indignation, for in Aaron Cohen's laughter he, Mr. Whimpole himself, was made to occupy a ridiculous place. "We are loth," continued Aaron, "to waste even the thinnest joke. We are at once, my dear sir, both thrifty and liberal."
"We!" exclaimed Mr. Whimpole, in hot repudiation.
"We Jews I mean. No person in the world could possibly mistake you for one of the chosen."
"I should hope not. The idea is too absurd."
"Make your mind easy, sir; you would not pass muster in a synagogue without exciting remark. Yes, we are both thrifty and liberal, wasting nothing, and in the free spending of our money seeing that we get good value for it. That is not a reproach, nor is it a reproach that we thoroughly enjoy an agreeable thing when we get it for nothing. There are so many things in life to vex us that the opportunity of a good laugh should never be neglected. Proceed, my dear sir, proceed; you were saying that you believed you were not mistaken in taking me for a Jew."
"Is it your intention," asked Mr. Whimpole, coming now straight to the point, "to reside in Gosport?"
"If I am permitted," replied Aaron, meekly. "We have not always been allowed to select our place of residence. I am thankful that we live in an enlightened age and in a free country."
"I hear, Mr. Cohen, that you have purchased the lease of this house."
"It is true, sir. The purchase money has been paid, and the lease is mine."
"Twenty-seven years and three months. Who can tell where we shall be, and how we shall be situated, at the end of that time?"
Mr. Whimpole waved the contemplation aside.