"Guten abend, mein Herr," he said, unslinging his haversack.
The cherubic face of the expatriated one responded quickly to the greeting in the loved mother-tongue.
"Wie geht's, wie geht's, mein guter Herr," he rejoined; and then in broken English: "I haf not dot Cherman before heard spoken in dis Gott-forsaken blaces. You haf some sambles gebracht?"
"Ja, mein Herr."
"Gut! I vill of dem de tests maig. Nicht wahr?"
"Gefälligst, mein lieber Herr;" and quickly,—"we must go on our way again to-morrow."
"So qvick? Ach! das ist nicht sehr gut. You vill der poor olt assay-meister maig to vork on der nide. But because you haf der goot Cherman in your moud I vill it do. Vat you haf?"
Jeffard unwrapped the samples one by one, and the assayer examined them with many dubious head-shakings. The amateur made haste to anticipate the preliminary verdict.
"I know they're valueless," he admitted, "but I have a partner who will require your certificate before he will be convinced. Can you let us know to-morrow?"
"Because you haf der Cherman, yes. But it vill be no goot; der silwer iss not dere"—including the various specimens in a comprehensive gesture.