devil knows what the secret of it is.

We clinked glasses--to my old friend's memory, of course--and I asked him:

"Well, what next?"

"Do I know?" he muttered between his teeth, and glared at me desperately with his burning eyes.

So that was the state of affairs.

My old friend's circumstances had never been brilliant. Added to that his love for everything in the shape of drink. Well--and you know where there's a swamp, the frogs will jump in--especially the boy, who had been going it for years, as if the stones at Döbeln were nuggets of gold.

"The debts are mounting?" I asked.

"Sky high, uncle," he said.

"Pretty bad juncture for you," I said. "Mortgages, first, second, third--way over the value of the property, and a lot of rebuilding required, and there's nothing to be earned from farming on the estate. The very chickens know that."

"Then good--bye to the army?" he asked, and looked me full in the face, as if expecting to hear sentence pronounced by the judge of a court martial.

"Unless you have a friend to pull you out of the hole."

He shook his head, fuming.

"Then, of course."

"And suppose I should have Döbeln cut up into lots, what do you think I'd realise?"

"Shame on you, boy," I said. "What! Sell the shirt from off your back, chop your bed into kindlings?"

"Uncle," he replied, "you are talking through your hat. I am dead broke."

"How much is it?" I asked.

He mentioned a sum. I'll not tell what it was because I paid it.

I laid down my terms. Firstly, immediate withdrawal from the army. Secondly, his personal management of the estate. Thirdly, the settlement of the lawsuit.

This lawsuit was against Krakow of Krakowitz, and had been going on for years. It had been my old friend's favourite sport. Like all such things, it turned, of course, upon a question of inheritance, and had swallowed up three times as much as the whole business was worth.

Krakow was a boor, so the dispute took on a personal colour, and led to intense hate, at least on Krakow's side, because Pütz was phlegmatic and always took a slightly humorous view of the affair. But Krakow had openly declared and sworn that if any member or servant of the Pütz family set foot on his place, he would sick his dogs on him.

Well, those were my terms. And the boy agreed to them. Whether willingly or unwillingly, I did not enquire.

I made up my mind to take the first steps myself toward an understanding with Krakow, although I had every reason to believe his threat applied to me, too. I had had several tilts with him in the county council.

But I--look at me--I don't mean to boast--I can fell a bull with this fist of mine. So a few curs don't need to make me take to my heels.

Well, then.

CHAPTER II

So I let three days pass, gentlemen, to sleep on the matter--then my two coach-horses into the harness--my yellow trap--and heigho for Krakowitz. Beautiful bit of property, no denying that. Somewhat run down, but full of possibilities. Lots of black fallow--might do for winter kale or something of the sort. The wheat so-so. The cattle splendid.

The courtyard! Well, you know, a courtyard is like the human heart. Once you have learned to see into it, you cannot be bamboozled so easily. There are neglected hearts, but you can see gold nuggets peeping out through the dirt. Then there are hearts all done up and polished and smartened, hearts fed up, you might say, on arsenic. They glitter and glisten, and all you can say when you look at them is "By Jingo!" Yet they are rotten and mouldy. There are hearts in the ascending and descending scale, hearts of which the better is more hopeless than the much, much worse, because the worse improves while the other gradually declines. Well, and so on.

The Krakowitz yard was a little of all this. Bright, clean barns, miserable wagons, fine drains for the stables, but the stalls badly placed. An air of whimsicality about the whole place, with a touch of stinginess or lack of means. From appearances it is difficult to distinguish between the two. The manor-house--two stories, red brick faced with yellow stones and overgrown with ivy. In a word, not bad, something unstudied about it--well, you know what I mean.

"Is the Baron at home?"

"Yes. What name shall I give?"

"Hanckel, Baron Hanckel--Ilgenstein."

"Step in, sir."

So I walked in--everything old--old furniture, old pictures--worm-eaten, but cosy.

I heard some one begin to curse and swear in the adjoining room.

"The dirty blackguard--the impudence of him--always was a friend of that Pütz, the cur!"

"Pleasant reception," I thought.

Women's voices joined in.

"Papa, papa!"

"Good Lord! All right! All right!"

Then he came in--gentlemen, if I hadn't just heard it with my own ears!--holding out his hands, his old sinner's face beaming, his dachs eyes blinking slily, but with a beam of pleasure in them.

"My dear sir, delighted."

"See here, Krakow," I said, "look out. I heard every word just now."

"What did you hear, what did you hear?"

"The epithets you bestowed on me--dirty blackguard and heaven knows what else."

"Oh that," he said, without a twitch of his lids. "I tell my wife every day that the doors are no good. But, my dear sir, you mustn't mind what I said. I always have been angry that you stood by Pütz. And I tell you, sir, my womenfolk mix just as good punches as he. If you had come to us--Iolanthe!--Iolanthe's my daughter. Iolanthe!! The comfort of my soul! Doesn't hear, doesn't hear. Didn't I just say the doors are no good? But both those women are at the keyhole now! Will you get away from there, you hussies? Do you hear their skirts rustling? They're running away. Ha--ha! Those women!"

Gentlemen, who could take offence? I couldn't. Perhaps I'm too thick--skinned? But I couldn't.

What did he look like?

The creature didn't reach much above my waist-line. Round, fat, bow-legged. But that absurd body of his was topped by a regular apostle's head, either St. Peter's or perhaps St. Andrew's, or somebody's of the sort. A fine, round, broad beard, with a band of white running down from each corner of his mouth, yellow parchment skin, thick crows' feet at the corners of his eyes, the top of his head bald, but two huge grey bushes over his ears.

The fellow danced about me like wild.

Don't for a moment suppose, gentlemen, that I was taken in by his goings-on. I had known him long enough. I saw through and through him. But--call me a simpleton if you will--I couldn't help it--I liked him. And I liked his surroundings.

There was a little corner at the window with carved oak cabinets all around--the window overgrown with ivy--very cosy. The sun shone in bright and clear as in an arbour, and on the table in an ivory bowl was a ball of worsted, and a copy of Daheim,and a piece of nibbled cake.

As I said, altogether comfortable and cosy.

We sat down in the corner, and a maid brought cigars.

The cigars were no good, but the smoke curled so merrily in the sunshine that I