Through Hawermann's good offices peace was soon restored and the three friends set out together to visit the field belonging to Kurz, who amused himself and his companions by his constant use of the most abstruse agricultural terms he could remember, so that Bräsig could not help asking himself, "who was riding the donkey now?"--"My field," said Kurz, "is 150 square poles, and I bought ten waggon loads of manure for it from Krüger, the butcher, most capital stuff; I intend to plant beetroot there; the manure was spread yesterday; don't you think there's enough? Just look!" and turning off the high road he led the way to a field.--"It's very badly spread," said Bräsig, "properly manured land should be as smooth as a piece of velvet," and when he had said this he began to break up a larger lump with the end of his walking stick.--"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Kurz, "something's sure to grow there all the same, for the manure is good, it cost me thirty shillings."--Next moment he came to a sudden standstill, beat the air with his hands, and gazed confusedly around him.--"Preserve the man!" cried Bräsig, "what's the matter?"--"This is some of the devil's own work!" exclaimed Kurz. "It isn't my field. The one next it is mine, and yet the confounded fellow carted the manure I had bought on to another man's land, and I was foolish enough to tell him to spread it. Thirty shillings for the manure; then the carter's wages, and the spreader's wages! It's enough to drive one mad!"--"Don't take the accident so much to heart, Kurz," said Hawermann, "your neighbour will understand how it happened, and will of course pay you for what you have expended on his land."--"Why that's the worst of it," cried Kurz, "the field belongs to Wredow, the baker, the man I've tried to turn out of his office at the jail, and he's certain to revenge himself now."--"You think yourself fit to be a farmer," said Bräsig very quietly, "and yet you lay down manure on another man's land instead of on your own."--"Isn't it enough to drive anyone mad!" cried Kurz, "but what talking can do shall be done," and having said this he hastened to the edge of the field, speared a lump of manure with the point of his stick, and flung it over on to his own ground. He knocked about the manure so vehemently that he soon lost his breath with rage and hard work, then stopping short and looking pale and exhausted, he flung away his stick and panted out: "I wash my hands of it all. Why didn't I go to bed? If I can only lay hands on that rascally carter when I go home--Oh, friends, help me--if you don't take care something dreadful will happen."--"Trust me," said Bräsig, seizing him by the collar, "I'll keep you out of mischief."--"There's no use leaving the stick there," said Hawermann going on and picking it up.