"Frank is no longer in my employ. I have discharged him, and he must now look out for himself."
"Don't you want somebody to take his place?" said Bucholz, eagerly.
"Yes, but I will get some one down there, I guess," replied the old man, as though he did not desire to talk any further about his affairs.
"Don't you think I would suit you, Mr. Schulte? I have nothing to do, and would be very glad to take the place," urged Bucholz. The old gentleman looked up in surprise at this question, and said:
"You would not come for such wages as I would pay."
He named a sum ridiculously small, but Bucholz announced his perfect willingness to accept the position at the remuneration offered.
The old gentleman revolved the question in his mind for a few moments, gazing somewhat suspiciously at the young man the while, and at length said to Bucholz, who was anxiously awaiting his decision:
"Well, you may come along and see how you will like it. If it does not suit you, you can return, and we can make our arrangements afterward."
The matter was thus disposed of, and William Bucholz journeyed to South Norwalk with his employer. The gay soldier had become the humble servant, the prospective farmer had been transformed into the obsequious valet.
These two men had journeyed across the seas, for a far-off land, and thus had strangely met. The web of fate had woven itself around their two lives, and the compact this day made was only to be severed by the death, sudden and mysterious, of the eldest party to the agreement.