But, Charles, whatever induced you to have any business
transactions with such a rascal as Pomuchelskopp? I told you long ago
that he was not to be trusted, he's a regular old Venetian, he's a
cunning dog, in short, he's a--Jesuit." "Ah, Braesig," said Hawermann,
"we won't talk about it. He might have treated me differently; but still
it was my own fault, I oughtn't to have agreed to his terms. I'm
thinking of something else now. I wish I could get something to do!" "Of
course, you must get a situation as soon as possible. The Count, my
master, is looking out for a steward for his principal estate, but don't
be angry with me for saying so Charles, I don't think that it would do
for you. You see, you'd have to go to the Count every morning with
laquered boots, and a cloth coat, and you'd have to speak High-German,
for he considers our provincial way of talking very rude and
uncultivated. And then you'd have all the women bothering you, for they
have a great say in all the arrangements. You might perhaps manage with
the boots, and the coat, and the High-German--though you're rather out
of practice--but you'd never get on with the women. The Countess is
always poking about to see that all's going on rightly in the
cattle-sheds and pig-sties,--in short--it's, it's as bad as Sodom and
Gomorrah." "Bless me!" cried Mrs. Nuessler, "I remember now. The
farm-bailiff at Puempelhagen left at the midsummer-term, and that would
just be the place for you, Charles.
Pages:
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379