"Thirty-nine," said Fink, watching the excitement he thus raised much as an anatomist might the galvanic convulsions of a frog. The words "thirty-nine" occasioned a fresh explosion in the mind of the Jew; he came forward, solemnly committed his soul to the deepest abyss, and declared himself the most unworthy wretch alive if he took less than 41. As he could not profit by Fink's repeated exhortations to quit, a servant was called. His appearance was so far composing, that Mr. Tinkeles now declared he could go alone, and would go alone; whereupon he stood still, and said 40-1/2. The agent, the provincials, and the whole counting-house watched the progress of the bargain with some curiosity; while Fink, with a certain degree of cordiality, proceeded to counsel the poor Jew to retire without further discussion, seeing that he was an utter fool, and there really was no dealing with him. Once more the Jew went out, and Fink said to the principal, who was reading a letter the while, "He'll let us have the wool if I let him have another half dollar." "How much is there of it?" asked the merchant. "Six tons," said Fink. "Take it," said Mr. Schroeter, reading on. Again the door opened and shut, the chattering went on, and Anton kept wondering how they could speak of a purchase when the seller had been so decided in his refusal of their terms. Once more the door was gently pushed open, and Tinkeles, creeping behind Fink, laid his hand on his shoulder, and said, in a melancholy but confidential voice, "What will you give, then?" Fink turned round, and replied with a good-natured smile, "If you please to take it, Tinkeles, 39-1/3; but only on the condition that you do not speak another word, otherwise I retract the offer." "I am not speaking," answered the Jew. "Say 40." Fink made a movement of impatience, and silently pointed to the door. The wool-dealer went out once more. "Now for it!" said Fink. In a moment or two Tinkeles returned, and, with more composure of manner, brought out "39-1/2, if you will take it at that." After some appearance of uncertainty, Fink carelessly replied, "So be it, then;" at which Schmeie Tinkeles underwent an utter transformation, behaving like an amiable friend of the firm, and politely inquiring after the health of the principal. And so it went on; the door creaking, buyers and sellers coming and going, men talking, pens scratching, and money pouring ceaselessly in. The household of which Anton now formed part appeared to him to be most impressive and singular. The house itself was an irregular and ancient building, with wings, court-yards, out-houses, short stairs, mysterious passages, and deep recesses. In the front part of it were handsome apartments, occupied by the merchant's family. Mr. Schroeter had only been married for a very short time, his wife and child had died within the year, and his sister was now his only near relation.