Anton was now the most assiduous of all the clerks in the office.

Fink was seldom able to persuade him to accompany him out riding or to the shooting gallery, but, on the other hand, he made diligent use of his friend's book-shelves, and having, after arduous study, gained some insight into the mysteries of the English language, he was anxious to exercise his conversational powers upon Fink.

But the latter proving a most irregular and careless master, Anton thought it best to put himself in the hands of a well-educated Englishman.
One day, looking up from his desk as the door opened, he saw, to his amazement, Veitel Itzig, his old Ostrau schoolfellow.

Hitherto they had but seldom met, and whenever they did so, Anton had taken pains to look another way.
"How are you getting on ?" asked he, coldly enough.
"Poorly," was the reply; "there is nothing to be made in our business.

I was to give you this letter, and to inquire when Mr.Bernhard Ehrenthal may call upon you." "Upon me!" said Anton, taking the letter and a card with it.
The letter was from his English master, asking whether he would join young Ehrenthal in a systematic course of some of the older English writers.
"Where does Mr.Bernhard Ehrenthal live ?" asked Anton.
"At his father's," said Itzig, making a face.