Augustus Füger stood in front of him. He had a parcel of papers under his arm.
John Hubert Ulwing hesitated. He would now have to make decisions, unaided, all by himself.
“These matters have all been settled according to the orders of the late master,” said the little book-keeper, and in his crinkled face the corners of his mouth went down like those of a child ready to cry.
Absent-mindedly John Hubert signed his name. He wiped his pen and stuck it into the glass full of shot, as his father was wont to do.
And so it was thenceforth. The business went its old way with the old movements though around it little by little the world changed. New men, new businesses rose. The head of the Ulwing firm did not change anything and externally his very life became the same as his father’s. He seemed to age daily. When he rested, he closed his eyes.
The damage caused by the fire and the last bad years of business weighed heavily on his shoulders. He had to grapple with the liquidation of grandiose purchases, various charges, old contracts, and many other problems. These were all clear and simple to the old builder; they remained mysterious to him. Their solution was lost for ever with the cool, mathematical mind of the builder. With his bony, large, ruthless hands the power of the house of Ulwing had departed.
John Hubert tried to remedy all troubles by economy. That was all his individuality contributed to the business. Cheap tools. Cheap methods. He even restricted the household expenses and every Sunday afternoon looked through Mamsell Tini’s books himself. This done, he called his son into the green room and spoke of economy.
Christopher sat with tired eyes, bored, in the armchair and paid no attention. Absent-mindedly he extracted the big-headed pin from the crocheted lace cover, and then, quite forgetting how it came into his hand, threw it under the sofa.
Netti brought the coffee on the tray with the parrot pattern, and lit the paraffin lamp. All of a sudden Christopher was there no more.
He did not care any more for Gabriel Hosszu, nor for little Gál. He went to the technical high-school. He had an intrigue with an actress, and the noble youths from the country estates, whose acquaintance he had made in the private school, were his friends. He spoke with them cynically about women. In a back room of the “Hunter’s Horn” Inn, he watched them for hours playing cards.