alt in assertions that every one else
disputed. Then there was a Mr. Baumann, with short hair and thoughtful
aspect, very regular in his attendance at church, a contributor to every
missionary association, and, as his friends declared, much inclined to
be a missionary himself, but that the force of habit retained him in
Germany and with the firm. Anton remarked with pleasure the courtesy and
good feeling that prevailed. Being tired, he soon made his retreat; and
having contradicted no one, and been friendly to all, he left a
favorable impression behind.

Meanwhile, Veitel Itzig made his way through the narrow and crowded
streets till he reached a large house, the lower windows of which were
secured by iron bars; while, on the drawing-room floor, the panes of
glass were large, and showed white curtains within; the attic windows
again being dirty, dusty, and here and there broken; in short, the house
had a disreputable air, reminding one of an old gipsy who has thrown a
new and gayly-colored shawl over her rags.

Into this house he entered, kissing his hand to a smart maid-servant,
who resented the liberty. The dirty staircase led to a white door, on
which the name "Hirsch Ehrenthal" was inscribed. He rang; and an old
woman, with a torn cap, appeared, who, having heard his request, called
out to those within, "Here is one from Ostrau, Itzig Veitel by name, who
wishes to speak to Mr. Ehrenthal." A loud voice replied, "Let him wait;"
and the clatter of plates showed that the man of business meant to
finish his supper before he gave the future _millionnaire_ a hearing.
Accordingly, Veitel sat upon the steps admiring the brass plate and the
white door, and wondering how the name of Itzig would look upon just
such another. That led him to reflect how far he was from being as rich
as this Hirsch Ehrenthal; and, feeling the half dozen ducats his mother
had sewn into his waistcoat, he began to speculate how much he could
daily add to them, provided the rich man took him into his service. In
the midst of these reflections the door was flung open, and Mr.
Ehrenthal stood before him, no longer the same man we saw in the
morning; the deference, the kindness, all were gone. No Eastern despot
so proud and lofty. Itzig felt his own insignificance, and stood humbly
before his master.

"Here is a letter to Baruch Goldmann, in which Mr. Ehrenthal has sent
for me," began Veitel.

"I wrote Goldmann word to send you, that I might see whet