“In that case,” he began, after making several turns of the room, “I will make another proposition: I become surety for you, and you for me.”
“Good,” cried Leimann, joyfully; “but it is a somewhat ticklish business, for some time or other there is bound to come a crash, and then if neither of us has a penny there will be the deuce and all.”
“That catastrophe will not happen, my most beloved friend, because if I can pull through once more there will be nothing to fear for me. I shall marry.”
“By the eternal gods, but you have amazing courage! Only let me tell you, be careful in the choice of your father-in-law, otherwise it is a worse than useless arrangement. I myself can speak from experience.”
“That is a matter of course; I shan’t marry on empty promises. For less than half a million they cannot do business with me.”
“Well, I wish you luck; but, come to think of it, how is it about König? Couldn’t he be induced to come out with a few thousand marks?”
“I’ve thought of him, but it seems to me doubtful whether he can be got at. For, first of all, we would have to pay him the old score.”
“All right; but we might make at least an attempt. He can’t say more than ‘no,’ and I shall sit down at once and write a few lines to him.”
Leimann took a chair at the desk and a sheet of letter-paper from one of the drawers.
Borgert sat down quietly in a corner, lit a cigarette, and blew its smoke into the slanting triangle of floating particles of dust which was formed by a ray of sunlight penetrating his window. The bluish wreaths of smoke formed fantastic bands, weaving and interweaving.