Not that Pretzel ever went to church, or ever prayed, or ever knelt to any God but Money. No, no: there was no mock humility about Pretzel. He gloried in his deeds, and when ruin overtook those unfortunate ones who had been drawn into his web, he would heap reproaches upon them for their unworldliness and their want of prudence. It was they who were the wrongers, not he. "See what you have done," he would say; "see what you have brought upon your poor families!" Can a more fiendish taunt be imagined?
Of every person, with one single exception, with whom Pretzel had dealings he got the advantage. That exception was myself. No one but I, in all the town, who had borrowed money of him, could say, "I have gained something from dealing with Pretzel." To hear that, and to be compelled to acknowledge that it was true, cut him to the soul. You may guess how he hated me.
It happened in this way: Old Pretzel did not always wait for customers; if they did not come to him he went to them; he made business, I have heard him say. It was not always, "I beg, I implore of you, good Pretzel, to lend me a hundred forms; it will save me from ruin. For the sake of my wife and children do this good deed!" It was he who sometimes said, "Why don't you borrow two hundred, three hundred, five hundred florins of me? It will help you on. You can buy fresh stock with it, and turn it twice over before I come to you for payment. You will grow rich, instead of being poor all your life. I would not do this for every one, but I take an interest in you. Think of it, for the sake of your wife and children. Think well of it; the money is ready for you, and it won't run away." He would cast his eyes upon a tradesman who was getting along comfortably, and when he had calculated how much he was worth, he would go to him and tempt him to borrow, putting all sorts of baits in his way. And he did it so cleverly that the victim could scarcely ever remember how the whole thing was done, and how it happened that ruin suddenly fell upon him like a clap of thunder.
Pretzel came to me--it was in the first year of Gideon Wolf's apprenticeship; that is how those two became acquainted, by Pretzel visiting my shop. Pretzel's words, when they were uttered in the presence of Gideon Wolf, fell upon a rich soil. Well, he came to me many times, admired my workmanship, admired my stock--I believe he knew to the smallest coin what it would fetch in the market--and would say,
"You ought to have a fine plate-glass window to your shop. It would draw custom. A fine plate-glass front, with glass shelves in it, and your beautiful watches and chains all set out in blue velvet eases. How they would glitter! It would make people's mouths water. Everybody in the town would come to look, and a great many would be tempted to buy. You would do three times the trade you are doing now. You would be able to buy the newest-fashioned goods; you would grow rich."
"But it would cost a great deal of money," I would answer, "to make these alterations."
"What does it matter," he would urge, "how much it would cost if you got it back five times, ten times over?"
"But I haven't any spare cash, Pretzel; all that I am worth lies in my stock. True, I do not owe anything; what I have is all my own."
"Really, Master Fink, you don't owe anybody anything--that is an absolute fact, eh?"
"It is an absolute fact, Pretzel."