"You ought to have a Pageant, Sir." "A what ?" "A Pageant; that's what we want for Merchester--something to advertise the dear old place and bring grist to our mills.
I've often wondered if we could not run something of the sort." This was not a conscious falsehood, but just a word or two of political patter, dropped automatically, absently.

In truth, Mr.
Bamberger, possessed by his inspiration, was wondering why the deuce it had never occurred to him until this moment.

Still more curious, too, that it had never occurred to his brother Isidore! This Isidore, after starting as a _croupier_ at Ostend and pushing on to the post of _Directeur des Fetes Periodiques_ to the municipality of that watering-place, had made a sudden name for himself by stage-managing a Hall of Odalisques at the last Paris Exposition, and, crossing to London, had accumulated laurels by directing popular entertainments at Olympia (Kensington) and Shepherd's Bush.
One great daily newspaper, under Hebrew control, habitually alluded to him as the Prince of Pageantists.

Isidore saw things on a grand scale, and was, moreover, an excellent brother.

Isidore (said Mr.
Julius Bamberger to himself) would find all the History of England in Merchester and rattle it up to the truth of music.
Aloud he said-- "This very scene we're looking on, f'r instance!" "There would be difficulties in the way of presenting it in the open air," hazarded his Worship.
Mr.Bamberger, never impatient of stupidity, opined that this could be got over easily.
"There's all the material made to our hand.