At this the young and frivolous Pagel burst out laughing.
The Rittmeister stood transfixed. Young Pagel had laughed. One could have heard a pin drop in the office.
He took two long paces toward Pagel. “You laugh, Pagel? You laugh, Herr Pagel, when I’m angry?”
“I’m sorry, Herr Rittmeister. I wasn’t laughing at you, sir. Only it sounded so funny. Herr Studmann carrying on secret intrigues with your wife.”
“So—so!” An icy look, a scrutiny from head to foot. “You are dismissed, Herr Pagel. You can get Hartig to drive you to the station to catch the three o’clock train. No contradiction, please. Leave the office! I have business to attend to here.”
Somewhat pale, yet with dignity, young Pagel left the office.
Herr von Studmann, angry, leaned against the safe. He looked out of the window, his forehead wrinkled. The Rittmeister regarded him sideways. “He’s an impertinent rascal!” he growled tentatively, but Studmann did not move.
“Now please give me my letter.”
“I have already given the letter back to Herr von Teschow,” announced von Studmann coolly. “I was able to convince the Geheimrat that his demands were unjust. He asked for the letter to be returned, so that the whole matter could be regarded as never having been raised.”
“I can believe it,” the Rittmeister said with a bitter laugh. “You let the old fox cheat you! He made a fool of himself and you give him back the proof of his blunder. Fine!”
“Negotiating with Geheimrat von Teschow was not very easy. He could still base himself legally on the confounded lease. What finally decided him was the question of his reputation, of your position as relations—”
“Position as relations! I am convinced you let yourself be hoodwinked, Studmann.”
“He seems to think a lot of his daughter and granddaughter. And how could I have been hoodwinked, since everything has been left as it was?”
“That doesn’t matter,” declared the Rittmeister obstinately. “I should have read the letter.”
“I thought I had full power to deal with it. You expressly asked me to keep all unpleasant things away from you.”
“When did I say that?”
“When we captured the field thieves.”
“Studmann, if I don’t want to be bothered by these petty thefts, it doesn’t mean that you are to hide letters from me.”
“Good. It won’t happen again.” Studmann leaned against the safe, a little reserved, but not impolite. “I have just examined the cooking arrangements in the washhouse. They seem to be all right. Amanda Backs is very efficient.”
“We’ll raise a fine stink with these convicts! I ought never to have agreed to it. But when you get everyone nagging you! I would ten times have preferred to take the Berlin people; then I wouldn’t have been obliged to turn my harvesters’ barracks into a jail. What it’s all cost! And now this impertinence from that Berlin fellow. Here, read that!”
He handed the letter to Studmann, who read it without moving a muscle, returned it and said: “That sort of thing was to be expected.”
“Was to be expected?” the Rittmeister almost screamed. “You think it’s all right, do you? The fellow demands seven hundred gold marks for wretches whom I wouldn’t touch with a barge pole! And you think it’s all right! Look here, Studmann—”
“The items are all there: ten gold marks agent’s fee per man makes six hundred marks, sixty hours of lost time at one mark, other expenses forty marks …”
“But you saw them, Studmann; they weren’t laborers. Seven hundred gold marks for a botanist’s tin and a babe in arms! No, you must write a strong letter to the fellow, Studmann!”
“Of course. What would you like me to write?”
“You know that best yourself.”
“Shall I reject his demands?”
“Of course!”
“Completely?”
“Absolutely! I won’t pay the fellow a penny!”
“Very good.”
“You think that’s right, don’t you?” asked the Rittmeister suspiciously.
“Right? Not at all, Prackwitz. You are bound to lose the case.”
“Lose the case … But, Studmann, they weren’t men—agricultural laborers.”
“One moment, Prackwitz …”
“No, listen, Studmann …”
“Well.”
And Rittmeister von Prackwitz was very angry with his friend von Studmann when the latter finally convinced him that they must try and come to an agreement. “It’ll cost money,” he sighed.
“Unfortunately I shall have to ask you for some more money today.” Studmann bent over an account book in which he hastily scribbled figures, endless figures with very many noughts.
“What do you mean—money? I haven’t anything worth mentioning. The bills can wait.”
“Since you’ve dismissed young Pagel,” said Herr von Studmann, apparently very busy with his figures, “you’ll have to pay your gambling debt. I have just reckoned it out. According to yesterday’s dollar rate it will be ninety- seven milliards two hundred million marks. Roughly one hundred milliards.”
“A hundred milliards!” exclaimed the Rittmeister breathlessly. “A hundred milliards! And you say off- handedly: ‘Prackwitz, I shall have to ask you for some money’ … Look here, Studmann, old man, I’ve got a feeling that you are angry with me somehow.”
“Me angry with you? Just now it looked as if you were angry with me.”
The Rittmeister paid no heed. “As if you were purposely creating difficulties for me!”
“Me—create difficulties for you?”
“But, Studmann, think! Where am I to get the money from? First there are these crazy expenses for the reconstruction of the harvesters’ barracks, then this Berlin fellow with seven hundred gold marks whom you think I shall have to pay something, and now Pagel.… My dear Studmann, I’m not made of money! I haven’t got a machine for printing bank notes, I haven’t got a mint, I can’t sweat money out of my ribs—yet you come along with these exorbitant demands. I don’t understand you.”
“Prackwitz,” said Studmann eagerly, “Prackwitz, sit down at once in this chair at the desk. There— comfortable? Good! Wait a moment. You’ll soon see something. I must just take a look at Pagel’s room.”
“But what’s the idea?” The Rittmeister was completely bewildered.
Studmann had disappeared into Pagel’s room and could be heard rummaging around. What was wrong with him? A serious business talk, and he started this nonsense!
“No, sit where you are,” cried Studmann, hurrying back. “Now you’ll see something.… What’s this?”
Somewhat foolishly the Rittmeister said: “A shaving mirror. Probably Pagel’s. But what in Heaven’s name —”
“Wait, Prackwitz! Whom do you see in the mirror?”
“Why, myself.” Like all men, he stroked his chin and listened to the soft scraping of the stubble. Then he shifted his tie. “But …”
“Who is this ‘me’? Who are you?”
“Now, look here, Studmann …”
“Since you don’t seem to know, Prackwitz, I’ll tell you. The man looking at you in the mirror is the most unbusinesslike, the most childlike, the most inexperienced man I have ever met in my life.”
“I beg you!” said the Rittmeister with injured dignity. “I certainly don’t want to underestimate your services, Studmann, but I managed Neulohe successfully even before you came here.”
“Hark at him!” said Studmann energetically. “In order to avoid hurting your feelings—for if I wasn’t your real friend, Prackwitz, I would pack up and go this very minute—let’s call the gentleman in question Herr Mirror. Herr Mirror goes to Berlin to engage men. He finds his way to a gambling den. Against the advice of his friend, he
