y, Veitel approached, and began:

"I wished, sir, to ask you if you happened to know any one who could
give lessons in writing and book-keeping to a man of my acquaintance?"

"And this man of your acquaintance is yourself?" said the little man.

"Why should I make a secret of it?" said Veitel. "Yes, it is I; but I am
only a beginner, and able to give but little."

"He who gives little receives little, my dear fellow," said the elderly
scribe, taking a pinch of snuff. "What is your name, and with whom are
you placed?"

"My name is Veitel Itzig, and I am in Hirsch Ehrenthal's office."

The stranger grew attentive. "Ehrenthal," he said, "is a rich man, and a
wise. I have had dealings with him in my time; he has a very fair
knowledge of law. What fee are you willing to pay, provided a master
could be found?"

"I do not know what should be given," said Veitel.

"Then I will tell you," said he of the spectacles. "I might or might not
give you instructions myself; but first I must know more about you. If I
were to do so, in consideration of your being but poor, and a beginner,
as you say, and also of having myself a little spare time on hand, I
should only ask fifty dollars."

"Fifty dollars!" cried Veitel, in horror, sinking down on a stool, and
repeating mechanically, "fifty dollars!"

"If you think that too much," said he of the spectacles, sharply, "know
that I am not going to deal with a greenhorn; secondly, that I never
gave my assistance for so little before; and, thirdly, that I should
never think of teasing myself with you if I had not a fancy to spend a
few weeks here."

"Fifty dollars!" cried Itzig; "why, I had thought it would not cost more
than three or four, and a waistcoat and a pair of boots, and"--for
Veitel saw that a storm was coming, and that the hat on the table was
much dilapidated--"a hat almost as good as new."

"Go, you fool!" said the old man, "and look out for a parish
schoolmaster."

"Then," said Itzig, "you are not a writing-master?"

"No, you great donkey," muttered the stranger; then, in a soliloquy,
"Who could have supposed that Ehrenthal would keep such a booby as this?
He takes me for a writing-master!"

"Who are you, then?"

"One with whom you have nothing to do," was the curt reply, and the
little man rose and betook himself to the loft, while Veitel went off to
ask Pinkus, as unconcernedly as he could, the name and calling of the
new guest.

"Don't you know him?" said