Pix quaffed it in silence; Specht refilled it, and began in a free-and-easy tone--"Now, Pix, what do you think of the pumpkins ?" "It is a crazy idea," said Pix.
Specht turned away much hurt, but he soon returned to the charge.

"You will grant, Pix, that men may hold different opinions on many subjects, and yet need not be enemies." "I grant that." "Why, then, are you my enemy?
Why do you think meanly of me?
It is hard to live on bad terms with one's colleagues.

I will not conceal that I esteem you, and that your conduct pains me.

You have refused me satisfaction, and yet you are angry with me." "Don't heat yourself," said Pix; "I have refused you no satisfaction, and I am not angry with you." "Will you prove this to these gentlemen ?" cried Specht, much pleased; "will you hob-nob with me ?" "Come, now," said Pix, good-humoredly, "I have no wish to quarrel; I only say this pumpkin notion was a crazy one." "But it is my notion still," cried Specht, withdrawing his glass; "I water them with bullock's blood, and in a few weeks they will be green." "No," said Pix; "that is over forever, as you will see yourself to-morrow morning.

And now come here and hob-nob with me, and pumpkins shall never be spoken of between us any more." Specht hob-nobbed with all his heart, and became exceedingly cheerful.
The weight that had long oppressed him had fallen off.