Debit and Credit. Gustav Freytag

at the same time to the gunsmith—the good-for-nothing fellow can send my gun by 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," said he at last; "you want to fight a duel with Herr von Fink, a dead shot, while you are only an apprentice, and not half a year in the business: impossible."

      "I should now be a student if I had not been brought up to be a merchant. Curses on business, if it so degrades me that I can not even ask satisfaction for insult. I shall go to Mr. Schröter at once, and give in my resignation."

      Jordan's surprise increased. Here was the good-natured apprentice transformed before his eyes. At length it was agreed that he should take the message; but Fink was not found at home. "Very possibly he has forgotten all about it, and is amusing himself at some club or other," was Jordan's commentary on the fact.

      "In that case," said Anton, "I shall at once write to him, and have the letter laid on his table."

      Meanwhile great conferences were held in Jordan's room; for, although Pix and Specht had promised secrecy, they indulged in such dark and mysterious hints that the truth was soon known. Baumann stole up to Anton to implore him not to peril two human lives for the sake of a rough word; and, when he was gone, Anton found a New Testament on his table, open at the words, "Bless them that curse you." Although not exactly in the mood to enter into their spirit, he took up the sacred book, and, having read the passages his good mother so often repeated to him, he prepared for bed in a softened frame of mind.

      Meanwhile, a rumor of some impending catastrophe pervaded the whole house.

      Sabine was in her treasure-chamber. Along its walls stood great oaken presses, richly carved; in the middle, a table with twisted legs, and a few old-fashioned chairs around. On the shelves of the presses appeared piles of linen, and rows of glass, china, and plate, collected by the taste of more than three generations. The air was fragrant with old lavender and recent eau de Cologne. Here Sabine reigned supreme. She herself took out and replaced whatever was wanted, and was not fond of admitting any other person. She was now standing at the table, which was covered with newly-washed linen, and, as she looked over the arabesques of the exquisitely fine table-napkins, a cloud passed over her brow. Two, three, four holes! She rang for the servant.

      "It is intolerable, Franz," said she; "there are three spoiled now in No. 24; one of the gentlemen runs his fork through the napkins. There is surely no need for that here."

      "That there is not," was the indignant reply; "the plate is under my own care."

      "Which of the gentlemen is so reckless?" asked Sabine, severely.

      "It is Herr von Fink," was the reply; "he has a habit of constantly running his fork through the napkins. It goes to my heart, Miss Sabine; but what can I do?"

      Sabine hung her head. "I knew that it was he," she sighed; "but we can not go on thus. I will give you a set for Herr von Fink's use, and we must sacrifice it." She went to the cupboard, and began to look for one, but the choice was difficult; the beautiful table-linen was dear to her heart. At length, with a lingering look at the pattern, she sorrowfully laid a set on the servant's arm.

      Franz still lingered. "He has burned a curtain in his bed-room," said he; "the pair is spoiled."

      "And they were quite new!" sighed Sabine again. "Take them away to-morrow. What more, Franz? What else has happened?"

      "Ah! ma'am," replied the servant, mysteriously, "Herr von Fink has insulted Herr Wohlfart, who is quite raging, and Herr Specht says there is to be a duel."

      "A duel!" cried Sabine; "you must have misunderstood Herr Specht."

      "No, indeed, ma'am, it's all too true. Something dreadful will happen. Herr Wohlfart brushed past me angrily, and did not touch his tea."

      "Has my brother returned?"

      "He does not come back till late to-day; he is on committee."

      "Very well," said Sabine; "say nothing about it, Franz, to any one."

      And Sabine sat down again at the table, but the damask was forgotten. "So that was what made poor Wohlfart look so sad! This wild youth—he came to us like a whirlwind, and the blossoms all fall in his path. His whole life is confusion and excitement, and he carries away with him all who approach within his reach. Even me—even me! Do what I will, I too feel his spell—so beautiful, so brilliant, so strange. He is always grieving me, and yet all day long I am thinking and caring about him. Oh, my mother! it was in this room that I sat at your feet for the last time when, with your hand on my head, you prayed that Heaven might shield me from every sorrow. Beloved mother, shield thy daughter against her own beating heart. Strengthen me against him, his ensnaring levity, his daring mockery."

      Long did Sabine sit thus, communing with her guardian spirits. Then wiping her eyes, she resolutely returned to count and arrange the table-linen.

      Anton had got into bed, and was just going to put out his candle, when a loud knock was heard at the door, and the man he least expected stood before him—Herr von Fink himself, with his riding-whip, and his usual careless manner. "Ah! in bed already!" said he, sitting astride on a chair close by. "I am sorry to disturb you. You have written me a very spirited letter, and Jordan has told me the rest, so I am come to answer you in person."

      Anton was silent, and looked darkly at him.

      "You are all good and very sensitive people," continued Fink, whipping his boots; "I am sorry that you took my words so to heart, but I am glad you have so much spirit."

      "Before I listen further," said Anton, angrily, "I must know whether it is your intention to