Suddenly there is a stir in the corridor, the servants are heard laughing, and in the doorway appears a singular figure, come to offer congratulations. It is Grobleben: Grobleben, from whose thin nose, no matter what the time of year, there ever hangs a drop, which never falls. Grobleben is a workman in one of the Consul’s granaries, and he has an extra job, too, at the house, as boots. Every morning early he appears in Broad Street, takes the boots from before the door, and cleans them below in the court. At family feasts he always appears in holiday attire, presents flowers, and makes a speech, in a whining, unctuous voice, with the drop pendent from his nose. For this, he always gets a piece of money--but that is _not_ why he does it! He wears a black coat--an old one of the Consul’s--greased leather top-boots, and a blue woollen scarf round his neck. In his wizened red hand he holds a bunch of pale-coloured roses, which are a little past their best, and slowly shed their petals on the carpet. He blinks with his small red eyes, but apparently sees nothing. He stands still in the doorway, with his flowers held out in front of him, and begins straightway to speak. The old Frau Consul nods to him encouragingly and makes soothing little noises, the Consul regards him with one eyebrow lifted, and some of the family--Frau Permaneder, for instance--put their handkerchiefs to their mouths. “I be a poor man, yer honour ’n’ ladies ’n’ gentlemen, but I’ve a feelin’ hairt; ’n’ the happiness of my master comes home to me, it do, seein’s he’s allus been so good t’ me; ’n’ so I’ve come, yer honour ’n’ ladies ’n’ gentlemen, to congratulate the Herr Consul ’n’ the Frau Consul, ’n’ the whole respected family, from a full hairt, ’n’ that the child may prosper, for that they desarve fr’m God ’n’ man, for such a master as Consul Buddenbrook there aren’t so many, he’s a noble gentleman, ’n’ our Lord will reward him for all....” “Splendid, Grobleben! That was a beautiful speech. Thank you very much, Grobleben. What are the roses for?” But Grobleben has not nearly done. He strains his whining voice and drowns the Consul out. “... ’n’ I say th’ Lord will reward him, him and the whole respected family; ’n’ when his time has come to stan’ before His throne, for stan’ we all must, rich _and_ poor, ’n’ one’ll have a fine polished hard-wood coffin ’n’ ’tother ’n old box, yet all on us must come to mother earth at th’ last, yes, we must all come to her at th’ last--to mother earth--to mother--” “Oh, come, come, Grobleben! This isn’t a funeral, it’s a christening. Get along with your mother earth!” “... ’n’ these be a few flowers,” concludes Grobleben. “Thank you, Grobleben, thank you. This is too much--what did you pay for them, man? But I haven’t heard such a speech as that for a long time! Wait a minute--here, go out and give yourself a treat, in honour of the day!” And the Consul puts his hand on the old man’s shoulder and gives him a thaler.