“I was told to call upon you by Captain Davis; he gave me your address.”
“Ah, der Davis—der Davis—a vaary goot man—my vaary dear friend. You are der rich Englander that do travel wit him,—eh?”
“I am travelling with him just now,” said Beecher, laughing slightly; “but as to being rich,—why, we 'll not dispute about it.”
“Yaas, here is his letter. He says, Milord will call on you hisself, and so I hold myself—how you say 'bereit?'—ready—hold myself ready to see you. I have de honor to make you very mush welcome to my poor house.”
Beecher thanked him courteously, and, producing Davis's letter, mentioned the amount for which he desired to draw.
The old man examined the writing, the signature, and then the seal, handing the document back when he had finished, muttering to himself, “Ah, der Davis—der Davis!”
“You know my friend very intimately, I believe?” asked Beecher.
“I belief I do,—I belief I do,” said he, with a low chuckle to himself.
“So he mentioned to me and added one or two little matters on which I was to ask you for some information. But first this bill,—you can let me have these two thousand florins?”
“And what do he do now, der Davis?” asked the Jew, not heeding the question.