"Two hours and a half," said old Sturm, nodding at Mr. Pix. "Very well, child; come and nail up this chest; here is a new hammer for you; it cost tenpence." "It's not worth it," was the reply. "You always pay too much." Such was Karl's education. The day after Anton's arrival, Pix had introduced him to Sturm, and Anton had said, in a tone of respect, "this is my first experience of business; pray give me a hint whenever you can." "Every thing is to be learned in time," replied the giant; "yonder is my little boy, who has got on capitally in a year. So your father was not a merchant?" "My father was an accountant; he is dead," was the reply. "I am sorry to hear it," said Sturm; "but you have still the comfort of a mother?" "My mother, too, is dead." "Alas! alas!" cried the porter, compassionately. He went on shaking his head for a long time, and at length added, in a low voice, to his Karl, "He has no mother." "And no father either," rejoined Karl. "Be kind to him, little one," said old Sturm; "you are a sort of orphan yourself." "Not I," cried Karl; "any one with such a great father as mine to look after has his hands full." "Why, you are a perfect little monster!" said his father, cheerfully hammering away at a cask. From that hour Karl showed all manner of small attentions to Anton, and a species of affectionate intimacy sprang up between the two youths. Indeed, Anton was on excellent terms with all the officials. He listened attentively to Jordan's sensible remarks, was prompt and unconditional in his obedience to Mr. Pix, entered into political discussions with Specht, read with interest Baumann's missionary reports, never asked Mr. Purzel for money in advance, and often encouraged Mr. Liebold to utter some palpable truth without retracting the statement. There was only one with whom he could not get on well, and that was the volunteer clerk, Fink. One gloomy afternoon, Mr. Jordan chanced to give our hero a certain message to take to another house, and, as he rose, Fink looked up from his desk, and said to Jordan, "Just send him at the same time to the gunsmith--the good-for-nothing fellow can send my gun by him." Our hero crimsoned. "Do not give me that commission," said he to Jordan; "I shall not execute it." "Really!" asked Fink, in amazement; "and why not, my fine fellow?" "I am not your servant," replied Anton, bitterly. "Had you requested me to do this for you, I might have complied; but I will take no orders from you." "Dolt!" muttered Fink, and went on writing. The whole office had heard him, and every eye turned to Anton, whose eyes flashed as he exclaimed, "You have insulted me--I will not bear an insult from any one--you must explain yourself." "I am not fond of giving any one a thrashing," said Fink, negligently. "Enough!" cried Anton, turning deadly pale; "you shall hear farther;" and off he rushed to deliver Jordan's message.