He found the _Maggid_ walking up and down Royal Street waiting for the verdict.

The _Maggid_ walked with a stoop that was almost a permanent bow, so that his long black beard reached well towards his baggy knees.
His curved eagle nose was grown thinner, his long coat shinier, his look more haggard, his corkscrew earlocks were more matted, and when he spoke his voice was a tone more raucous.

He wore his high hat--a tall cylinder that reminded one of a weather-beaten turret.
The Shalotten _Shammos_ explained briefly what he had done.
"May thy strength increase!" said the _Maggid_ in the Hebrew formula of gratitude.
"Nay, thine is more important," replied the Shalotten _Shammos_ with hilarious heartiness, and he proceeded to read the letter as they walked along together, giant and doubled-up wizard.
"But I haven't got a wife and six children," said the _Maggid_, for whom one or two phrases stood out intelligible.

"My wife is dead and I never was blessed with a _Kaddish_." "It sounds better so," said the Shalotten _Shammos_ authoritatively.
"Preachers are expected to have heavy families dependent upon them.

It would sound lies if I told the truth." This was an argument after the _Maggid's_ own heart, but it did not quite convince him.
"But they will send and make inquiries," he murmured.
"Then your family are in Poland; you send your money over there." "That is true," said the _Maggid_ feebly.