At that moment there was a light knock at the door, and Schmeie Tinkeles first inserted his curly head, and then his black caftan, and gurgled submissively, "I wished to ask their honors whether they would look at a horse that is worth as many louis-d'or as it cost dollars. If you would just step to the window, Mr. Wohlfart, you would see it--seeing is not buying."
"Is this one of your mercantile friends, Wohlfart?" asked the lieutenant, laughing.
"He is so no longer; he is fallen into disgrace," replied Anton, in the same tone. "This time his visit is intended for you, Herr von Rothsattel. Take care, or he will tempt you to buy the horse."
The dealer listened attentively to the dialogue, and looked with much curiosity at the lieutenant.
"If the gracious baron will buy the horse," said he, coming forward, and staring at the young officer, "it will be a beautiful saddle-horse for him on his estate."
"What the deuce do you know about my estate?" said the lieutenant; "I have none."
"Do you know this gentleman?" asked Anton.
"How should I not know him, if it be he who has the great estate in your country, in which he has built a factory, where he makes sugar out of fodder."
"He means your father," explained Anton. "Tinkeles has connections in our province, and often stays months there."
"What do I hear?" cried the Galician; "the father of this worshipful officer! Your pardon, Mr. Wohlfart; so you are acquainted with the baron, who is the father of this gentleman!" A smile hovered over the lieutenant's mustache.
"I have, at all events, seen this gentleman's father," replied Anton, annoyed with the pertinacious questioning of the trader, and with himself for blushing.
"And forgive me if I ask whether you know this gentleman intimately, and whether he is what one calls your good friend?"
"What are you driving at, Tinkeles?" said Anton, sharply, and blushed still deeper, not knowing exactly how to answer the question.
"Yes, Jew, he is my good friend," said the lieutenant, clapping Anton on the shoulder. "He is my cashier; he has just lent me twenty ducats, and he won't give me any money to buy your horse. So go to the devil."
The trader listened attentively to every word spoken, and looked at the young men with curiosity, but, as Anton remarked, with a degree of sympathy foreign to his nature. "So," he repeated, mechanically, "he has lent you twenty ducats; he would lend you more if you asked him; I know--I know. So you do not want the horse, Mr. Wohlfart? My services to you, Mr. Wohlfart;" and, so saying, he vanished, and soon the quick trot of a horse was heard.