Debit and Credit. Gustav Freytag

all fell coldly, till, just before going away, he inquired, "Did the promissory notes duly arrive?"

      "Yes," was the ungracious reply.

      "It is sad," cried Ehrenthal, "to think of forty-five thousand dollars lying dead. To you, baron, a couple of thousands or so is a mere trifle, but not to one of my sort. At this moment I might speculate boldly, and safely too; but all my money being locked up, I must lose a clear four thousand." The baron listened attentively; the trader went on: "You have known me, baron, for years past, to be a man of honor, and of some substance too; and now I will make a proposition to you. Lend me for three months ten thousand dollars' worth of promissory notes, and I will give you a bill of exchange, which is as good as money. The speculation should bring in four thousand dollars, and that I will divide with you in lieu of interest. You will run no risk; if I fail, I will bear the loss myself, and pay back the principal in three months."

      However uninteresting these words may appear to the reader, they threw the baron into such a state of joyous excitement that he could scarce command himself sufficiently to say, "First of all, I must know what sort of a bargain it is that you wish to drive with my money." Ehrenthal explained. The offer of purchasing a quantity of wood had been made to him, which wood lay on a raft in an upper part of the province. He would take all the expense of transport on himself; and he proceeded to demonstrate the certain profit of the transaction.

      "But," said the baron, "how comes it that the present proprietor does not carry out this profitable scheme himself?"

      Ehrenthal shrugged his shoulders. "He who means to speculate must not always inquire the reason of bargains. An embarrassed man can not wait two or three months; the river is at present frozen, and he wants the money in two or three days."

      "Are you sure that his right to sell is incontestable?"

      "I know the man to be safe," was the reply; "and that, if I pay him this evening, the wood is mine."

      Now it was painful to the baron, much as he wanted money, to turn the embarrassment of another to his own profit; and he said, "I consider it unfair to reckon upon what is certain loss to the seller."

      "Why should it be certain loss?" cried Ehrenthal. "He is a speculator—he wants money; perhaps he has a greater bargain still in his eye. He has offered me the whole quantity of wood for ten thousand dollars, and I have no business to inquire whether he can or can not make more of my money than I of his wood."

      And so far Ehrenthal was right; but this was not all. The seller was an unlucky speculator, pressed by his creditors, threatened with an execution, and determined to frustrate their hopes by driving an immediate bargain with a stranger, and then making off with the money. Perhaps Ehrenthal knew this; perhaps the baron too surmised that there must be a mystery, for he shook his head. And yet he ran no risk, incurred no responsibility; he but lent his money to a safe man, whom he had known for years, and in a short time he should get rid of the evil genius that tormented him ceaselessly. Too much excited to reflect whether this was not a casting out of devils by Beelzebub, their chief, he rang the bell for his carriage, and said, in a lordly tone, "You shall have the money in an hour."

      From that day the baron led a life of anxious suspense. He was always going over this interview, always thinking of the piles of wood; and, whenever he rode out, his horse's head was turned to the river, that he might watch the progress of the thaw.

      He had not seen Ehrenthal for some time. At length he came one morning with his endless bows, and, taking out a large packet, said triumphantly, "Well, baron, the affair is settled. Here are your notes, and here the two thousand dollars, your share of the profit."

      The baron snatched the packet. Yes; they were the very same parchments he had taken out of the casket with so heavy a heart, and a bundle of bank-notes besides. A weight fell from him. The parchments were safe, the deficit made up. Ehrenthal was courteously dismissed. That very day the baron bought a turquoise ornament for his wife, which she had long silently wished for, and sunshine prevailed in the family circle.

      But a dark shadow from the recent past had yet to fall athwart it. The baron, reading the paper one day in his wife's room, observed an advertisement concerning a bankrupt dealer in wood, who had made his escape after swindling his creditors. He laid down the paper, and the drops stood on his brow. "If it should be the same man!"

      Ehrenthal had given no name. Had he, a man of honor, been the means of defrauding just claims; had he taken part in a swindling transaction, ay, and gained by it too! The thought was too fearful. He hurried to his desk that he might pack up and send off the accursed profits—whither he knew not, but any where, away. He saw with horror that only a small portion of them remained. In extreme agitation, he rang the bell, and sent for Ehrenthal.

      As chance would have it, Ehrenthal was gone on a journey. Meanwhile arose those soothing inward voices which know so well how to place things doubtful in a favorable light. "How foolish this anxiety! There were hundreds of dealers in wood in that part of the country; and was it likely that this very man should be Ehrenthal's client? Or, even if he were, in a business point of view, how could they help the use he might make of their money? Nothing could be fairer than the transaction itself." Thus the voices within; and oh! how attentively the baron listened.

      But still, when Ehrenthal at length appeared, the baron met him with an expression that positively appalled him. "What was the name of the man from whom you bought the wood?" cried he.

      Ehrenthal had read the newspaper too, and the truth now flashed upon him. He gave a name at once.

      "And the place where the wood lay?"

      Ehrenthal named that too.

      "Are you telling me the truth?" asked the baron, drawing a third deep breath.

      Ehrenthal saw that he had a sick conscience to deal with, and treated the case with the utmost gentleness. "What is the baron uneasy about?" said he, shaking his head; "I believe that the man with whom I dealt has made a good profit out of the affair. Nothing could be more fair than the whole transaction. But, even had it not been so, why, my good sir, should you be troubled? There was no reason why I should not tell you the names, both of the man and place, before; but I did not do so, because the bargain was mine, not yours. I became your debtor, and I have repaid you with a bonus—a large one, it is true; but I have dealt with you for years, and why should I keep back from you the share of profit which I should have had to give any one else?"

      "That is all right, Ehrenthal," said the baron, more graciously; "and I am glad that the case stands thus. But, had this man been the bankrupt in question, I should have broken off our connection, and should never have forgiven you for involving me in a fraudulent transaction."

      Ehrenthal bowed himself out, muttering, as he went down stairs, "He's a good man, this baron; a good, good man."

      CHAPTER VII.

      We now return to Anton, who had been placed under the joint command of Messrs. Jordan and Pix, and who found himself the small vassal of a great body corporate, containing a variety of grades and functions little dreamed of by the uninitiated. First in the counting-house was the book-keeper Liebold, who, as minister of the home department, reigned supreme and solitary in a window of his own, forever recording figures in a colossal book, and seldom looking off their columns.

      In the opposite part of the room ruled the second dignitary in the state, the cashier Purzel, surrounded by iron safes, heavy bags, and with a large stone table before him, on which dollars rung, or gray paper money fell noiselessly the whole day through.

      Jordan was the principal person in the office. He was the head clerk, and his opinion was sometimes asked by the principal himself. In him Anton found, from the day of his arrival, a good adviser, and an example of activity and healthy common sense.

      Of all the clerks under Jordan's superintendence, the most interesting to Anton was Baumann, the future missionary. Not only was he a truly religious man, he was an admirable and infallible accountant. But, besides all these, the firm had some officials who did not live in the house. One was Birnbaum, the custom-house clerk,