The sailmaker was not a little triumphant over this unexpected victory;
but at supper the thing was reversed--Heller got no soup; and the two
sly dogs realized that they were beaten at their own game. From that
time on there was no more tale-bearing.

But between themselves they gave each other no peace. Only now and
then, when they crouched side by side on the turf by the roadside and
stretched their wrinkled necks to look after the passers by, a
temporary soul-brotherhood grew up between them, as they discussed the
ways of the world, the weaver, the system of caring for the poor, and
the wretchedly thin coffee in their abode, or exchanged their slender
stock of ideas--which with the sailmaker consisted in a conclusive
psychology of women, with Huerlin in recollections of his travels and
fantastic plans for financial speculations on a grand scale.

"You see, when a fellow gets married--" that was how Heller always
began. And Huerlin, when it was his turn, opened with "If I knew anybody
who would lend me a thousand marks," or "Once upon a time, when I was
down at Solingen." He had worked there for three months many years ago;
but it was remarkable how many things had happened to him or come under
his notice in Solingen.

When they had talked themselves out, they sucked silently at their
usually empty pipes, folded their arms about their thin knees, spat at
irregular intervals on the road, and stared past the gnarled old
apple-trees down into the town whose outcasts they were, and whom in
their folly they held responsible for their misfortunes. Then they
became gloomy, sighed, made discouraged gestures with their hands, and
realized that they were old and played out. This always lasted until
their dejection changed again into malice, which generally took half an
hour. Then, as a rule, it was Lukas Heller who opened the ball, at
first with some little teasing remark.

"Just look down there!" he would cry, pointing toward the valley.

"What is it?" growled the other.

"You don't need to ask--I know what I see."

"Well, what _do_ you see, in the devil's name?"

"I see the cylinder-factory that used to be Huerlin & Schwindelmeier,
now Dallas & Co. Rich men they are, I'm told--rich men!"

"Oh, go to the deuce!" growled Huerlin.

"Thank you!"

"Do you want to make me out a swindler?"

"No need to make you one!"

"You dirty old sail-cobbler!"

"Jail-bird!"

"You're an old drunkard!"

"Drunkard yourself! _Y