With this object he walked about, carefully observing every business house he came across. His wanderings took him through the broad streets of the mediæval quarter and along the principal boulevards until he reached the main street. Here he found what he sought—the European shops.
He was not long before he came upon a German bookseller's, and, with his customary rapid decision, he entered and asked for the manager. The clerk to whom he addressed himself led the way to an inner office, where our hero was confronted with a little fat, bristly man, with a keen though kindly face of undoubted Teutonic type. Without pausing to consider his words, he plunged into the object of his visit.
"I have just come from Europe, sir, and want work. Can you assist me?"
"That depends," he answered quickly. "What can you do? Where do you come from, and what recommendations have you?"
"I have no calling but that of medicine," replied Helmar with a sinking heart. "And I come from the Königsberg University. As for recommendations, I have none."
"Um! Not much to apply for work with," grunted the little man. "But tell me," he went on, "you are a countryman of mine, and, if possible, I should like to help you. Why did you come out here?"
Helmar then told him his whole story, disguising nothing; even going so far as to tell him who his father was. The little bookseller listened patiently to all he had to say, and at the conclusion of his narrative rose from his chair and came towards him.
"Your story seems to me a straight one, and you appear to be an open-hearted young man. I'll see what I can do for you. You say you speak and write English and French?"
"Yes," replied George anxiously, "tolerably well."
The man left his office for a few moments.