Godfrey looked unusually solemn as he went up to his father and wished him good-day. His pompous manner, and the severe gravity of his deportment were enough to make one imagine, that his patron saint had taken care to clothe him in unapproachable dignity, that he might the more easily keep himself unspotted from the world.--"How-d'ye-do, papa. I hope you are well," he said giving his father a kiss in the hollow of his cheek, which the latter returned by making a kiss in the air thereby reminding one of a carp when he puts his head out of the water. "How is mama just now?" the son continued, for Godfrey had been taught to say "papa and mama" from his earliest years, because though the rector thought it quite right and proper for tradesmen's children to call their parents "father and mother," he did not consider it seemly that the children of well educated people should do so. Kurz was always indignant at "such affectation," for his son of course said "father and mother"--"How-d'ye-do, uncle," continued Godfrey addressing Kurz, "and how are you, Mr. bailiff Bräsig," then turning to his father he went on: "I am particularly glad that you have come to-day, for I want to speak to you about a matter of the deepest interest to myself."--"Aha!" said Bräsig to himself. "He's making a good beginning."