owed this to
his own sharp-wittedness. Ever since his first arrival, the hollow sound
of the wooden partition had a good deal excited him, and he had often
vainly sought to explore the mystery. At last, one Saturday evening, he
pretended to be ill, and remained at home, when his host and the rest of
the household had gone to the synagogue.

Having had the good fortune to widen a chink in the partition, he beheld
what delighted him in the extreme. A large dirty room, quite full of
chests, coffers, and a chaos of desirable articles--old clothes, beds,
piles of linen, stuffs, hangings, hardware-goods, etc. Aladdin at his
first entrance into the magician's cave was hardly so enraptured as
Itzig by his discovery, which he carefully kept to himself. Sometimes at
night he heard a stir in the mysterious room; nay, once whispers reached
him, some of them in the deep voice of Pinkus himself. One evening, too,
coming home late, he saw boxes and bundles in a little carriage before
the next house, all modestly covered up with white linen; and that very
night two silent guests disappeared, and came back no more; from all of
which Veitel concluded that his host was a commission agent, who had his
reasons for carrying on business by night rather than by day.

It was as clear as possible. These goods were taken eastward, smuggled
over the border, and spread all over Russia.

Veitel used his discovery judiciously, only giving such hints of it to
Pinkus as to insure his most respectful behavior.

On one eventful day Veitel returned in thoughtful mood to his lodgings,
and sat in the public room. He was pondering how best to get hold of
some scribe who would initiate him into the mysteries of grammar and
book-keeping for the smallest possible fee; nay, perhaps for a certain
old black coat, which, owing to the peculiarity of its cut, he had never
yet been able to dispose of. Happening to look up in the midst of his
reflections, his eye fell on a stranger who held a pen in his hand, and
conversed with a tradesman. It was plain that this man was no Jew. He
was little and fat. He had a red turned-up nose, bushy gray hair, and he
wore an old pair of spectacles, which had great difficulty in keeping on
the nose aforesaid. Veitel remarked that he had on an unusually bad
coat, and took snuff. It was plain that this man was a writer of some
kind; so, as soon as he had seen him hand over a paper to the tradesman,
and receive a small piece of mone