"Then I will tell you," said he of the spectacles. "I might or might not give you instructions myself; but first I must know more about you. If I were to do so, in consideration of your being but poor, and a beginner, as you say, and also of having myself a little spare time on hand, I should only ask fifty dollars." "Fifty dollars!" cried Veitel, in horror, sinking down on a stool, and repeating mechanically, "fifty dollars!" "If you think that too much," said he of the spectacles, sharply, "know that I am not going to deal with a greenhorn; secondly, that I never gave my assistance for so little before; and, thirdly, that I should never think of teasing myself with you if I had not a fancy to spend a few weeks here." "Fifty dollars!" cried Itzig; "why, I had thought it would not cost more than three or four, and a waistcoat and a pair of boots, and"--for Veitel saw that a storm was coming, and that the hat on the table was much dilapidated--"a hat almost as good as new." "Go, you fool!" said the old man, "and look out for a parish schoolmaster." "Then," said Itzig, "you are not a writing-master?" "No, you great donkey," muttered the stranger; then, in a soliloquy, "Who could have supposed that Ehrenthal would keep such a booby as this? He takes me for a writing-master!" "Who are you, then?" "One with whom you have nothing to do," was the curt reply, and the little man rose and betook himself to the loft, while Veitel went off to ask Pinkus, as unconcernedly as he could, the name and calling of the new guest. "Don't you know him?" said Pinkus, with an ironical smile; "take care you don't know him to your cost. Ask him his name; he knows it better than I do." "If you will put no confidence in me, I will in you," said Veitel, and told him the whole conversation. "So he would have given you instruction?" said Pinkus, shaking his head in amazement; "fifty dollars is a large sum; but many a man would give a hundred times as much to know what he does. Not that I care what you learn, or from whom." Veitel went to his lair in greater perplexity than ever. Soon came Pinkus with a slight supper for the stranger, to whom he manifested a remarkable degree of sociability. He now called him out on the balcony, and after a short talk in the dark, of which Veitel guessed himself the subject, re-entered the room, saying, "This gentleman wishes to spend a few weeks here in private; therefore, even if questioned, you will not mention it." "I don't even know who the gentleman is," said Veitel; "how could I tell any one that he is living here?" "You may trust this young man," observed Pinkus to the stranger, and then wished the two good-night. The man in spectacles sat down to his supper, every now and then casting such a glance at Veitel as an old raven might do at an unfledged chicken, who had innocently ventured within his reach.