Debit and Credit Part 35

Three days later, Karl, with his arm in a sling, entered Anton's room.

"Here I am," said he. "Adieu my gay uniform! adieu Selim, my gallant bay! You must have patience with me, Mr. Anton, for one other week, then I shall be able to use my arm again."

"Here is an answer from your father," said Anton, "directed to me."

"To you?" inquired Karl, in amazement. "Why to you? why has he not written to me?"

"Listen." Anton took up a great sheet of folio paper, which was covered over with letters half an inch long, and read as follows: "Wors.h.i.+pful Mr. Wohlfart, this is a great misfortune for my poor son. Two fingers from ten--eight remain. Even though they were but small fingers, the pain was all the same. It is a great misfortune for both of us that we can no longer write to each other. Therefore I beg of you to have the goodness to tell him what follows: 'He is not to grieve overmuch. Boring can still perhaps be done, and a good deal with the hammer. And even if it be Heaven's will that this too should be impossible, still he is not to grieve overmuch. He is provided for by an iron chest. When I am dead, he will find the key in my waistcoat pocket. And so I greet him with my whole heart. As soon as he can travel, he must come to me; all the more, as I can no longer tell him in writing that I am his true and loving father, Johann Sturm.'" Anton gave the letter to the invalid.

"It is just like him," said Karl, between smiles and tears; "in his first sorrow he has imagined that he can no longer write to me, because I have hurt my hand. How he will stare when he receives my letter!"

Karl spent the next few weeks with Anton. As soon as he could move his hand, he took possession of the wardrobe of his friend, and began to render him the little services that he had undertaken long ago in the princ.i.p.al's house. Anton had some difficulty to prevent him from playing the superfluous part of valet.

"There you are brus.h.i.+ng my coat again," said he one day, going into Karl's room. "You know I will not stand it."

"It was only to keep mine in countenance," said Karl, by way of excuse; "two look so much better hanging together than one. Your coffee is ready, but the coffee-pot is good for nothing, and always tastes of the spirit of wine."

When he found that, as he said, he could be of no use to Anton, he began to work on his own account. Owing to his old love of mechanics, he had collected a quant.i.ty of tools of all sorts, and whenever Anton left the house, he began such a sawing, boring, planing, and rasping, that even the deaf old artillery officer, who was quartered in the neighboring house, was under the impression that a carpenter had settled near him, and sent a broken bedstead to be repaired. As Karl was still obliged to spare his right hand, he used one tool after the other with the left, and was as pleased as a child with the progress he made. And when the surgeon forbade such exertions for a week to come, Karl began to write with his left hand, and daily exhibited to Anton samples of his skill.

"Practice is all that is wanted," said he; "man has to discover what he can do. As for that, writing with the hands at all is merely a habit; if one had no hands, one would write with one's feet; and I even believe that they are not essential, and that it could be managed with the head."

"You are a foolish fellow," laughed Anton.

"I do a.s.sure you," continued Karl, "that with a long reed held in the mouth, with two threads fastened to the ears to lessen the shaking, one might get on very tolerably. There is the setting of your keyhole come off; we'll glue that on in no time."

"I wonder that it does not stick of itself," said Anton, "for a most horrible smell of glue comes from your room. The whole atmosphere is impregnated with glue."

"G.o.d forbid!" said Karl; "what I have is perfectly scentless glue--a new invention."

When this true-hearted man set out homeward, with his dismission in his pocket, Anton felt as if he himself then first exchanged the counting-house for the foreign city.

One day our Anton pa.s.sed the inn where his princ.i.p.al had been wounded.

He stood still a moment, and looked with some curiosity at the old house and at the court-yard, where white-coated soldiers were now occupied in blacking and polis.h.i.+ng their belts. At that moment he perceived a form in a black caftan glide away like a shadow out of the bar across the entrance. It had the black curls, the small cap, the figure and bearing of his old acquaintance, Schmeie Tinkeles. Alas! but it was his face no longer. The former Tinkeles had been rather a smart fellow of his kind.

He had always worn his long locks s.h.i.+ning and curled; he had had red lips, and a slight tinge of color on his yellow cheeks. The present Schmeie was but a shadow of him of yore: he looked pale as a ghost, his nose had become pointed and prominent, and his head drooped down like the cup of a fading flower.

Anton cried out in amazement, "Tinkeles, is it really you?" and went up to him. Tinkeles collapsed as if struck by a thunderbolt, and stared with wide-opened eyes at Anton, an image of horror and alarm.

"G.o.d of justice!" were the only words that escaped his white lips.

"What is the matter with you, Tinkeles? you look a most miserable sinner. What are you doing in this place, and what in the world leads you to this house, of all others?"

"I can not help being here," answered the trader, still half unconscious. "I can not help our princ.i.p.al being so unfortunate. His blood has flowed on account of the goods which Mausche Fischel sent off, having been paid for them. I am innocent, Mr. Wohlfart, on my eternal salvation. I did not know that the landlord was such a worthless being, and that he would lift his hand against the gentleman who stood before him there without hat, without cap on--without cap on," he whined out still more loudly; "bareheaded. You may believe that it was with me as though a sword had fallen upon my own body when I saw the landlord use such violence to a man who stood before him like a n.o.bleman as he is, and has been all his life long."

"Hear me, Schmeie," said Anton, looking wondering at the Galician, who still harped upon the same string, trying to regain his composure by dint of speaking. "Hear me, my lad; you were in this town when our wagons were plundered--you saw from some hiding-place or other our quarrel with the landlord--you know this man's character, and yet you remain here; and now I will just tell you, in so many words, what you have half confessed to me--you knew of the unloading of the wagons, and, more, you had an interest in the carriers remaining behind; and in short, you and the landlord are in the same boat. After what you have now said, I shall not let you go till I know all. You shall either come with me to my room, and there freely confess, or I will take you to the soldiers, and have you examined by them."

Tinkeles was annihilated. "G.o.d of my fathers, it is fearful--it is fearful!" whined he, and his teeth chattered.

Anton felt compa.s.sion for his great terror, and said, "Come with me, Tinkeles, and I promise you that if you make a candid confession nothing shall be done to you."

"What shall I confess to the gentleman?" groaned Tinkeles; "I, who have nothing to confess."

"If you will not come at once, I call the soldiers," said Anton, roughly.

"No soldiers," implored Tinkeles, shuddering again. "I will come with you, and will tell you what I know, if you will promise to betray me to no one, not to your princ.i.p.al, not to Mausche Fischel, and not either to the wicked man, the landlord, and not to any soldiers."

"Come," said Anton, pointing down the street. And so he led away the reluctant Tinkeles like a prisoner, and never took his eyes off him, fearing that he would follow the suggestions of his evil conscience, and run off down some side street. The Galician, however, had not courage to do this, but crept along by Anton, looked toward him every now and then, sighing deeply, and gurgled out unintelligible words. Arrived at Anton's lodging, he began of his own accord: "It has been a weight on my heart--I have not been able to sleep--I have not been able to eat or drink; and whenever I ran here or there on business, it has lain on my soul just as a stone does in a gla.s.s--when one tries to drink, the stone falls against the teeth, and the water spills. Alas! what have I not spilled!"

"Go on," said Anton, again mollified by the candid confession.

"I came here on account of the wagons," continued Tinkeles, looking timidly at Anton. "Mausche has dealt with your firm for ten years, and always uprightly, and you have made a good sum of money out of him, and so he thought that the time was come when he might do a business of his own, and settle his account with you. And when the uproar began, he came to me and said, 'Schmeie,' said he, 'you are not afraid,' said he. 'Let them shoot away, and go you among them and see that you keep the wagons for me. Perhaps you can sell them, perhaps you can bring them back; at all events, it is better that we should have them than any one else.'

And so I came and waited till the wagons arrived, and I spoke with the landlord, saying that, since the goods could not reach you, it was better they should fall into our hands. But that the landlord should prove such a man of blood, that I did not wish, and did not know; and since I saw how he cut your master's arm, I have had no peace, and I have ever seen before me the b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.+rt, and the fine cloth of his great-coat, which was cut in two."

Anton listened to this confession with an interest that outweighed the aversion he felt for these--not uncommon--manoeuvres of Galician traders. He contented himself with saying to the delinquent, "Your rascality has cost Mr. Schroter a wounded arm; and, had we not appeared upon the scene, you would have stolen from us twenty thousand dollars."

"Not twenty thousand," cried Schmeie; "wool is very low, and there's nothing to be made of tallow. Less than twenty thousand."

"Indeed!" said Anton, disdainfully; "and now, what am I to do with you?"

"Do nothing with me," implored Schmeie, laying his hand on Anton's coat.

"Let the whole matter go to sleep. You have the goods, be satisfied with that. It was a good business that which Mausche Fischel was not able to undertake because you hindered him."

"You still regret it," said Anton, indignantly.

"I am glad that you have the property," replied the Jew, "because you shed your blood about it; and therefore do nothing with me; I will see whether I can't please you in other matters. If you have any thing for me to do in this place, it will be a satisfaction to me to help you."

Anton coldly replied, "Although I have promised not to bring your thievishness to judgment, yet we can never deal with you again. You are a worthless man, Tinkeles, and have dealt unfairly with our house.

Henceforth we are strangers."

"Why do you call me worthless?" complained Tinkeles. "You have known me as an upright man for years past; how can you call me worthless because I wanted to do a little stroke of business, and was unfortunate and could not do it? Is that worthless?"

"Enough," said Anton; "you may go." Tinkeles remained standing, and asked whether Anton required any new imperial ducats. "I want nothing from you," was the reply. "Go."

The Jew went slowly to the door, and then turning round, observed, "There is an excellent bargain to be made with oats; if you will undertake it with me, I will go shares with you; there is much money to be made by it."

"I have no dealings with you, Tinkeles. In Heaven's name, go away."

The Jew crept out, once more scratching at the door, but not venturing in. A few minutes later, Anton saw him cross the street, looking much dejected.

From that time Anton was regularly besieged by the repentant Tinkeles.

Not a day pa.s.sed without the Galician forcing an entrance, and seeking a reconciliation after his fas.h.i.+on. Sometimes they met in the streets, sometimes Anton was disturbed when writing by his unsteady knock; he had always something to offer, or some tidings to impart, through which he hoped to find favor. His power of invention was quite touching. He offered to buy or sell any thing or every thing, to transact any kind of business, to spy or carry messages; and when he found out that Anton was a good deal with the military, and that a certain young lieutenant, in particular, went often with him to the "Restauration," Tinkeles began to offer whatever he conceived might prove attractive to an officer. True, Anton remained firm in his resolve of not dealing with him, but at last he had no longer the heart to treat the poor devil roughly; and Tinkeles found out from many a suppressed smile, or short question put, that Anton's intercession for him with the princ.i.p.al was not quite hopeless.

And for this he served with the perseverance of his ancestor Jacob.

One morning young Rothsattel came clattering into Anton's room. "I have been on the sick-list. I had a bad catarrh, and was obliged to remain in my comfortless quarters," said he, throwing himself on the sofa. "Can you help me to while away time this evening? We are to have a game at whist. I have invited our doctor and a few of our men. Will you come?"

Pleased and a little flattered, Anton accepted. "Very well," continued the young gentleman; "then you must give me the power of losing my money to you. That wretched _vingt-et-un_ has emptied my pockets. Lend me twenty ducats for eight days."

"With pleasure," said Anton; and he eagerly produced his purse.

Just as the lieutenant carelessly pocketed it, a horse's hoofs were heard in the street, and he rushed to the window. "By Jove, that is a lovely thing--pure Polish blood--the horse-dealer has stolen it from one of the rebels, and now wants to tempt an honest soldier with it."

"How do you know that the horse is to be sold?" asked Anton, sealing a letter at the writing-table.