“I was told to call upon you by Captain Davis; he gave me your address.” “Ah, der Davis--der Davis--a vaary goot man--my vaary dear friend. You are der rich Englander that do travel wit him,--eh?” “I am travelling with him just now,” said Beecher, laughing slightly; “but as to being rich,--why, we 'll not dispute about it.” “Yaas, here is his letter. He says, Milord will call on you hisself, and so I hold myself--how you say 'bereit?'--ready--hold myself ready to see you. I have de honor to make you very mush welcome to my poor house.” Beecher thanked him courteously, and, producing Davis's letter, mentioned the amount for which he desired to draw. The old man examined the writing, the signature, and then the seal, handing the document back when he had finished, muttering to himself, “Ah, der Davis--der Davis!” “You know my friend very intimately, I believe?” asked Beecher. “I belief I do,--I belief I do,” said he, with a low chuckle to himself. “So he mentioned to me and added one or two little matters on which I was to ask you for some information. But first this bill,--you can let me have these two thousand florins?” “And what do he do now, der Davis?” asked the Jew, not heeding the question. “Well, I suppose he rubs on pretty much the same as ever,” said Beecher, in some confusion. “Yaas--yaas--he rub on--and he rub off, too, sometimes--ha! ha! ha!” laughed out the old man, with a fiendish cackle. “Ach, der Davis!” Without knowing in what sense to take the words, Beecher did not exactly like them; and as little was he pleased with that singular recurrence to “der Davis,” and the little sigh that followed. He was growing impatient, besides, to get his money, and again reverted to the question. “He look well? I hope he have de goot gesundheit--what you call it?” “To be sure he does; nothing ever ails him. I never heard him complain of as much as a headache. “Ach, der Davis, der Davis!” said the old man, shaking his head. Seeing no chance of success by his direct advances, Beecher thought he 'd try a little flank attack by inducing a short conversation, and so he said, “I am on my way to Davis, now, with his daughter, whom he left in my charge.” “Whose daughter?” asked the Jew. “Davis's,--a young lady that was educated at Brussels.” “He have no daughter. Der Davis have no daughter.” “Has n't he, though? Just come over to the 'Four Nations,' and I 'll show her to you. And such a stunning girl too!” “No, no, I never belief it--never; he did never speak to me of a daughter.” “Whether he did or not--there she is, that's all I know.” The Jew shook his head, and sought refuge in his former muttering of “Ach, der Davis!” “As far as not telling you about his daughter, I can say he never told me, and I fancy we were about as intimate as most people; but the fact is as I tell you.” Another sigh was all his answer, and Beecher was fast reaching the limit of his patience.