the greatest train-oil business in the world, and so forth,"
broke in Fink, carelessly. "Jordan, give me ten dollars; I want to pay
the groom; add them to the rest." Then turning to Anton, he said, with
some degree of politeness, "If you were coming to call upon me, as I
guess from the festive air of your Mercury, I am sorry not to be at
home, having to buy a new horse. I consider your visit paid, return you
my most ceremonious thanks, and give you my blessing on your entrance."
And, with a careless nod, he went rattling down the stairs.

Anton was a good deal discomposed by this cool behavior, and Jordan
thought it desirable to add a short commentary of his own. "Fink only
half belongs to us, and has been here but a short time. He was brought
up in New York, and his father has sent him here to be made a rational
being."

"Is he not rational, then?" inquired Anton, with some curiosity.

"Why, he is too wild, too full of mischief--else, a pleasant fellow
enough. And now come with me; I have invited all our gentlemen to tea,
that they may make your acquaintance."

Mr. Jordan's room was the largest of those appropriated to the clerks,
and having a piano-forte and a few arm-chairs, it was occasionally used
as a drawing-room.

Here, then, the gentlemen were sitting and standing, awaiting the
new-comer. Anton went through the ceremony of introduction with becoming
gravity, shaking each of them by the hand, and asking for their
good-will and friendly assistance, as he had been but little in the
world, and was totally inexperienced as to business. This candor
produced a favorable impression. The conversation grew animated, and was
seasoned with many allusions and jests wholly unintelligible to the
stranger, who held his peace, and devoted himself to observation. First,
there was the book-keeper, Liebold, a little, elderly man, with a gentle
voice and a modest smile, that seemed to apologize to the world at large
for his having taken the liberty of existing in it. He said but little,
and had a way of always retracting what he had advanced, as, for
example, "I admit this tea is too weak; though, to be sure, strong tea
is unwholesome," and so on. Next came Mr. Pix, the despotic wielder of
the black pencil, a decided kind of man, who seemed to look upon all
social relations as mere business details, respectable but trivial. As a
chair was wanting, he sat astride on a small table. Near him was Mr.
Specht, who spoke much, and de