Debit and Credit. Gustav Freytag

warm summer evening, office hours being over, Fink said to Anton, "Will you accompany me to-day? I am going to try a boat that I have just had built." Anton was ready at once; so they jumped into a carriage, and drove to the river. Fink pointed out a round boat that floated on the water like a pumpkin, and said, in a melancholy tone, "There it is—a perfect horror, I declare! I cut out the model for the builder myself too; I gave him all manner of directions, and this is the sea-gull's egg he has produced."

      "It is very small," replied Anton, with an uncomfortable foreboding.

      "I'll tell you what it is," cried Fink to the builder, who now came forward, respectfully touching his hat, "our deaths will be at your door, for we shall inevitably be drowned in that thing, and it will be owing to your want of sense."

      "Sir," replied the man, "I have made it exactly according to your directions."

      "You have, have you?" continued Fink. "Well, then, as a punishment, you shall go with us; you must see that it is but fair that we should be drowned together."

      "No, sir, that I will not do, with so much wind as this," returned the man, decidedly.

      "Then stay ashore and make sawdust pap for your children. Give me the mast and sails." He fitted in the little mast, hoisted and examined the sails, then took them down again, and laid them at the bottom of the boat, threw in a few iron bars as ballast, told Anton where to sit, and, seizing the two oars, struck out from shore. The pumpkin danced gayly on the water, to the great delight of the builder and his friends, who stood watching it.

      "I wanted to show these lazy fellows that it is possible to row a boat like this against the stream," said Fink, replacing the mast, setting the sail, and giving the proper directions to his pupil. The wind came in puffs, sometimes filling the little sail, and bending the boat to the water's edge, sometimes lulling altogether.

      "It is a wretched affair," cried Fink, impatiently; "we are merely drifting now, and we shall capsize next."

      "If that's the case," said Anton, with feigned cheerfulness, "I propose that we turn back."

      "It doesn't matter," replied Fink, coolly; "one way or other, we'll get to land. You can swim?"

      "Like lead. If we do capsize I shall sink at once, and you will have some trouble to get me up again."

      "If we find ourselves in the water, mind you do not catch hold of me, which would be the surest way of drowning both. Wait quietly till I draw you out; and, by the way, you may as well be pulling off your coat and boots; one is more comfortable in the water en négligé." Anton did so at once.

      "That's right," said Fink. "To say the truth, this is wretched sport. No waves, no wind, and now no water. Here we are, aground again! Push off, will you? Hey, shipmate! what would you say if this dirty shore were suddenly to sink, and we found ourselves out on a respectable sea—water as far as the horizon, waves as high as that tree yonder, and a good hearty wind, that blew your ears off, and flattened your nose on your face?"

      "I can't say that I should like it at all," replied Anton, nervously.

      "And yet," said Fink, "there are few plights so bad but they might be still worse. Just think; in that case it would be some comfort to have even these good-for-nothing planks between us and the water; but what if we ourselves lay on the stream—no boat, no shore—mountain waves all round?"

      "I at least should be lost!" cried Anton, with genuine horror.

      "I have a friend, a good friend, to whom I trust implicitly in any crisis, to whom this once happened. He sauntered down to the shore on a glorious evening, had a fancy to bathe, stripped, plunged, and struck out gayly. The waves lifted him up and drew him down; the water was warm, the sunset dyed the sea with ten thousand exquisite hues, and the golden sky glowed above him. The man shouted with ecstasy."

      "You were that man?" inquired Anton.

      "True. I went on swimming for about an hour, when the dull look of the sky reminded me that it was time to return; so I made for land; and what think you, Master Wohlfart, that I saw?"

      "A ship?" said Anton; "a fish?"

      "No. I saw nothing—the land had vanished. I looked on all sides—I rose as high as I could out of the water—there was nothing to be seen but sea and sky. The current that set out from the land had treacherously carried me out. I was in mid ocean, somewhere between England and America, that I knew; but this geographical fact was by no means soothing to one in my circumstances. The sky grew dark, the hollows filled with black uncanny shadows, the waves got higher, and a cold wind blew round my head; nothing was to be seen but the dusky red of the sky and the rolling waters."

      "Horrible!" cried Anton.

      "It was a moment when no priest in the world could have prevented a poor human being from wishing himself a pike, or some such creature. I knew by the sky where the land lay. Now came the question, which was stronger—the current or my arm? I began a deadly struggle with the treacherous ocean deities. I should not have done much by such swimming as they teach in schools. I rolled like a porpoise, and struck out desperately for about two hours; then the labor got hard indeed. It was the fiercest battle I ever fought. The sky grew dark, the emerald waves pitchy black, only they were crested with foam that blew in my face. At times a single star peeped from the clouds—that was my only comfort. So I swam on and on, and still there was no land to be seen. I was tired out, and the hideous darkness sometimes made me think of giving up the struggle. The clouds gathered darker, the stars disappeared; I began to doubt whether I was taking the right direction, and I was making very little way. I knew the game was nearly up—my chest heaved—countless sparks rose before my eyes. Just then, my boy, when I had glided half unconsciously down the slope of a wave, I felt something under my feet that was no longer water."

      "It was land!" cried Anton.

      "Yes," said Fink; "it was good firm sand. I found myself on shore about a mile to leeward of my clothes, and fell down like a dead seal." Then stopping, and with a steady look at Anton, "Now, mate, get ready!" cried he; "take your legs from under the bench; I am going to tack and make for shore. Now for it!"

      At that moment came a violent gust of wind; the mast creaked, the boat heeled over, and could not right herself. According to promise, Anton went to the bottom without any more ado. Quick as lightning Fink dived after him, brought him up, and, with a violent effort, reached a spot whence they could wade ashore. "Deuce take it," gasped Fink; "take hold of my arm, can't you?"

      But Anton, who had swallowed a quantity of water, was hardly conscious, and only waved Fink off.

      "I do believe he'll be down again," cried the latter, impatiently, catching hold of him and making for the shore.

      A crowd had by this time assembled round the spot where Fink was holding his companion in his arms and exhorting him to recover himself. At length Anton opened his eyes.

      "Why, Wohlfart," said Fink, anxiously, "how goes it, my lad? You have taken the matter too much to heart. Poncho y ponche!" cried he to the by-standers; "a cloak and a glass of rum—that will soon bring him round."

      A cloak was willingly lent, and our hero carried to the builder's house.

      "Here is an end of boat, sails, oars, and all," said Fink, reproachfully, "and of our coats into the bargain. Did not I tell you that it was a good-for-nothing tub?"

      For an hour, at least, Fink tended his victim with the greatest tenderness, but it was late before Anton was sufficiently recovered to walk home.

      The next day was Sunday, and the principal's birth-day besides. On this important occasion, the gentlemen of the office spent some hours after dinner with the family circle, and coffee and cigars were served. As they were sitting down to table, the good-natured cousin said to Fink, "The whole town is full of the fearful risk which you and Mr. Wohlfart ran yesterday."

      "Not worth mentioning, my dear lady!" replied Fink, carelessly; "I only wanted to see how Master Wohlfart would behave in drowning. I threw him into the water, and he was within a hair's-breadth