“Yes, sir.”
“Native of Ireland, and never before employed in commercial pursuits?”
I nodded to this interrogatory.
“Ikam not in love with Ireland, nor do I feel a great liking for ignorance, Herr Owen,” said he, slowly; and there was a deep impressiveness in his tone, though the words came with the thick accentuation of the Jew. “My old friend and correspondent should have remembered these prejudices of mine. Herr Jacob Heinfetter should not have sent you here.”
I knew not what reply to make to this, and was silent
“He should not have sent you here;” and he repeated the words with increased solemnity. “What do you want me to do with you?” said he, sharply, after a brief pause.
“Anything that will serve to let me earn my bread,” said I, calmly.
“But I can get scores like you, young man, for the wages we give servants here; and would you be content with that?”
“I must take what you are pleased to give me.”
He rang a little bell beside him, and cried out, “Send Harasch here.” And, at the word, a short, beetle-browed, ill-favored young fellow appeared at the door, pen in hand.