y him."

Our hero crimsoned. "Do not give me that commission," said he to Jordan;
"I shall not execute it."

"Really!" asked Fink, in amazement; "and why not, my fine fellow?"

"I am not your servant," replied Anton, bitterly. "Had you requested me
to do this for you, I might have complied; but I will take no orders
from you."

"Dolt!" muttered Fink, and went on writing.

The whole office had heard him, and every eye turned to Anton, whose
eyes flashed as he exclaimed, "You have insulted me--I will not bear an
insult from any one--you must explain yourself."

"I am not fond of giving any one a thrashing," said Fink, negligently.

"Enough!" cried Anton, turning deadly pale; "you shall hear farther;"
and off he rushed to deliver Jordan's message.

A cold rain was falling, but Anton was not aware of it: he felt nothing
but an agonizing sense of insult and wrong. As he reached the
establishment he sought, he saw his principal's carriage at the door,
and as he came out again he met Sabine just about to enter it. He could
not avoid handing her in; and, struck with his appearance, she asked him
what was the matter.

"A trifle," was the reply.

Insignificant as the incident was, it changed Anton's mood. Her
courteous greeting and kindly inquiry raised his spirits. He felt that
he was no longer a helpless child; and, raising his hand to heaven, his
resolve was taken.

On his return to the office, he quietly went on with his work, heedless
of the inquiring glances around him; and, when the office was closed, he
hurried to Jordan's room, where Pix and Specht were already met. They
all treated him with a commiseration not quite free from contempt; but
he, having inquired from Jordan, in their presence, whether Fink had any
right to give him such an order, and whether in his (Jordan's) opinion
he had done wrong in resenting it, and having been satisfactorily
answered on both heads, requested a few moments' private conversation,
and then proceeded to declare that he should demand a public apology
from Fink.

"Which he will never consent to," said Jordan, with a shake of the head.

"In that case I challenge him, either with sword or pistols."

Now, if Jordan had seen a dusky vapor rise from his ink-bottle, and take
the form of a hideous genie, after the manner of fairy tales, and this
genie had announced his intention of strangling him on the spot, he
could not have been more amazed. "The devil is in you, Wohlfart," s