and when nothing did any good, he sat down at the
table, buried his head in his hands, and broke into pitiful sobbing
which lasted for half an hour. This was too much for the sympathetic
Finkenbein. He gave a mighty box on the ear to the terrified sailmaker,
and forced him to restore the concealed treasure.

The tough frame of the manufacturer might have resisted for many more
years, in spite of his almost white hair. But the desire for death,
though it was working almost unconsciously in him, soon found its way
out, and made an end to the ugly tragi-comedy. One night in December it
happened that the old man could not sleep. Sitting up in bed, he gave
himself to his desolate thoughts, staring at the dark wall, and seemed
to himself more forsaken than usual. In this mood of weariness, fear,
and hopelessness he finally rose from his bed without knowing too well
what he was doing, unfastened his hempen suspenders, and hanged himself
with them to the top of the door-jamb. So Holdria found him in the
morning, and the imbecile's cry of horror soon brought the manager.
Huerlin's face was just a little bluer than usual, but it was impossible
to disfigure it very much.

It was a terrible surprise, but its effect was of short duration. Only
Holdria whimpered softly over his bowl of coffee; all the others knew
or felt that the manufacturer's end had come at a good time for him,
and that there was no real cause for regret or horror. And then no one
had loved him.

Of course a few penny-a-liners made haste to investigate the
interesting case, and communicated to the readers of their cheap
papers, together with the necessary moralizings, the fact that the not
unknown bankrupt Karl Huerlin had made a rather suitable end as a
suicide in the poorhouse.

When Finkenbein had come as the fourth inmate, there had been
some complaints in the town about the way in which the newly-founded
institution was rapidly filling. Now one was gone from the number; and
though it is true that paupers are usually of robust constitution and
reach a good old age, yet it is also true that a hole seldom stays as
it is, but seems to eat into the stuff around it. So it was here, at
any rate. The colony of good-for-naughts was scarcely founded before
consumption seemed to set in and went on working.

For the moment, indeed, the manufacturer seemed to be forgotten, and
all went on as before. Lukas Heller took the lead in the little
community, so far as Fink