the
investigation of the room. He went to a low cupboard, turned the key,
and looked for some fluid that might restore his sinking strength and
refresh his parched gums. He found a bottle of rum, poured its contents
into a glass, and gulped it down as fast as the fiery nature of the
poison allowed. A cold sweat immediately broke out on his brow, and,
drawing a remnant of a handkerchief from his pocket, he hurriedly wiped
his face, and reeled up and down the room, talking to himself.

"He is a fool! a rascally, cowardly hare! a miserable chafferer! If I
wanted to sell him this old handkerchief, he could not help buying; it
is his nature; he is a despicable creature. And he tries to defy me, and
put me in prison; and he is to sit, forsooth, on this sofa, with the
rum-bottle at his side--the scoundrel!" Then taking up the empty bottle,
he dashed it against the woodwork of the sofa and broke it to pieces.
"Who was he?" he went on, in increasing rage; "a chaffering
jack-pudding. I have made him what he is, the noodle. If I whistle, he
dances; he is only the decoy, I am the bird-catcher." Here Hippus tried
to whistle a tune, and to execute a few steps. Again the cold sweat
rained from his brow, and, taking out his handkerchief, he dried his
face, and carefully replaced the rag in his pocket. "He does not
return," he suddenly cried; "he leaves me here, and they will find me."
Then running to the door and violently shaking it, "The villain has
locked me in--a Jew has locked me in!" shrieked the miserable creature,
wringing his hands. "I am to die of hunger and thirst in this prison.
Oh, he has used me ill--used his benefactor basely; he is an ungrateful
wretch, an unnatural son!" At this he began to sob: "I have nursed him
when he was sick, I have taught him knowing tricks, I have made a man
of him, and this is how he rewards his old friend." The lawyer wept
aloud. Suddenly stopping before the mirror, he started at his own
reflection. His eyes flashed still more angrily as, pushing his
spectacles more firmly on, he examined the frame. He knew that mirror.
Had chance brought one of the articles belonging to his better days into
Pinkus's secret stores, and thence to Veitel's room, or did some
resemblance mislead the drunkard? At all events, the thoughts it awoke
of his former position filled him with rage. "It is my mirror," he
screamed--"my own mirror that the rascal has here;" and, rushing wildly
about the room, he snatched up