the well-known product of
street-humor; the tailor riding on a goat, the devil taking off bad
women, a portrait of the long-moustached mayor of Nuremberg: a pile of
envelopes, all heaped together in a huddle.

That was Topandy's savings bank.

He would always spend silver and gold money, but money paid to him in
bank-notes, which he had to accept, he would put by year by year among
this collection of cards, funny pictures, and theatrical programmes;
this heap of value was never disturbed except when, as at present, some
enforced visit had to be put up with, some so-called "execution."

"Please, help yourselves."

"What?" cried the magistrate. "Must we pick out the value from the
non-value in this rubbish?"

"Now I am not so well-informed an expert as to distinguish what is
recalled from what is still in circulation. Still my good friend is
right, it is my duty to count out, yours to receive."

Then he plunged his hand into the treasure-heap, and counted over the
bits of paper.

"This is good, this is not. This is still new, this is surely torn.
Here's a five florin, here a ten florin note. This is the Knave of
Hearts."

A little discussion occurred when he counted a label that had been
removed from an old champagne bottle, as a ten florin note.

The gentlemen took exception to that: it must be thrown away.

"What, is this not money? It must be money. It is a French bank-note.
There is written on it ten florins. Cliquot will pay if you take it to
him."

Then he began to explain several comical pictures, and bargained with
the authorities--how much would they give for them? he had paid a big
price for them.

Finally the worthy lawyer had again to intervene: otherwise this
liquidation might have lasted till the following evening; then, after a
strict search in a critical manner, he withdrew two hundred and
forty-three florins from the pile.

"A little water if you please, I should like to wash my hands," said the
lawyer after his work, feeling like one who has separated the raw wheat
from the tares.

"Like Pilate after passing judgment," jested Topandy. "You shall have
all you want at once. Already there is an end to the legal manipulation:
we are no longer 'legale testimonium' and 'incattus,' but guest and
host."

"God forbid," repudiated the magistrate retiring towards the door. "We
did not come in that guise. We do not wish to trouble you any longer."

"Trouble indeed!" said the accused, guffawing