was the reply. "Go."

The Jew went slowly to the door, and then turning round, observed,
"There is an excellent bargain to be made with oats; if you will
undertake it with me, I will go shares with you; there is much money to
be made by it."

"I have no dealings with you, Tinkeles. In Heaven's name, go away."

The Jew crept out, once more scratching at the door, but not venturing
in. A few minutes later, Anton saw him cross the street, looking much
dejected.

From that time Anton was regularly besieged by the repentant Tinkeles.
Not a day passed without the Galician forcing an entrance, and seeking a
reconciliation after his fashion. Sometimes they met in the streets,
sometimes Anton was disturbed when writing by his unsteady knock; he had
always something to offer, or some tidings to impart, through which he
hoped to find favor. His power of invention was quite touching. He
offered to buy or sell any thing or every thing, to transact any kind of
business, to spy or carry messages; and when he found out that Anton was
a good deal with the military, and that a certain young lieutenant, in
particular, went often with him to the "Restauration," Tinkeles began to
offer whatever he conceived might prove attractive to an officer. True,
Anton remained firm in his resolve of not dealing with him, but at last
he had no longer the heart to treat the poor devil roughly; and Tinkeles
found out from many a suppressed smile, or short question put, that
Anton's intercession for him with the principal was not quite hopeless.
And for this he served with the perseverance of his ancestor Jacob.

One morning young Rothsattel came clattering into Anton's room. "I have
been on the sick-list. I had a bad catarrh, and was obliged to remain in
my comfortless quarters," said he, throwing himself on the sofa. "Can
you help me to while away time this evening? We are to have a game at
whist. I have invited our doctor and a few of our men. Will you come?"
Pleased and a little flattered, Anton accepted. "Very well," continued
the young gentleman; "then you must give me the power of losing my money
to you. That wretched _vingt-et-un_ has emptied my pockets. Lend me
twenty ducats for eight days."

"With pleasure," said Anton; and he eagerly produced his purse.

Just as the lieutenant carelessly pocketed it, a horse's hoofs were
heard in the street, and he rushed to the window. "By Jove, that is a
lovely thing--pure Polish blood--the horse-dealer