"Good gracious!" cried Gustaving, "that is our neighbor Nüssler, and another Herr."
"Blockhead!" exclaimed Pomuchelskopp. "How often have I told you, you should not call everybody neighbor! The day-laborer, Brinkmann, will be my neighbor next, because he lives near my garden; I will not be neighbor to everybody," and with that he went to the door, to see what was going to happen.
Jochen and Gottlieb, meanwhile, had got down from the carriage, and Jochen came up to him: "Good day, neighbor!" Pomuchelskopp made him a very ceremonious bow, such as he had learned to make at the Landtag, and showed them into the parlor. It was very still in the room, if one excepts the little creaking of the chairs; Jochen thought Gottlieb ought to speak, Gottlieb thought Jochen ought to speak, and Pomuchelskopp thought he ought not to speak, lest he should commit himself to something. Finally, however, Gottlieb began:
"Herr Pomuchelskopp, the good, brave Pastor Behrens has gone to God, and if it seems hard, and almost unchristian, that I should offer myself, so soon after his death, as a candidate for the vacant parish, yet I do not believe that I offend against the common feelings of humanity, or the duty of a true Christian; because I am conscious that I take this step only to satisfy the wishes of my own parents, as well as those of my future father and mother-in-law."
That was a fine speech for Gottlieb, and he was right, in every respect; but Pomuchelskopp had the right of it, also, when he made no other reply than to say to Gottlieb, all that might be, but he wished to know with whom he had the honor of speaking. Jochen motioned with his head to Gottlieb that he should tell him frankly, and Gottlieb said that he was the son of Rector Baldrian, and a candidate. Jochen lay back comfortably in his chair, after this announcement, as if the business were settled, and he could smoke his pipe in peace. But since Muchel had offered him no pipe, he had to content himself with going through the motions, with his mouth, puffing away like a Bohemian carp, when it comes up for air.
"Herr Candidate," said Pomuchelskopp, "there have been several of your sort, already, to see me about this business,"--this was a lie, but he knew no other way of managing a parish business, than if he were selling a lot of fat swine to the butcher,--"but I have let them all go, because the matter with me turns upon one point."
"And that was?" asked Gottlieb. "My examina----"
"That is nothing to me," said the Herr Proprietor, "I mean the Pastor's acre. If you will consent to rent the field to me,--of course for a good, a very good price,--then you shall have my vote, otherwise not."
"I think I have heard," said Gottlieb, "that the field is rented to the Herr von Rambow, and I should not like----"
"You may set your mind at rest on that point, Herr von Rambow will not rent the field again," and Pomuchelskopp looked at Gottlieb in an overbearing way, as if he had sold his fat swine at the highest price. Jochen said nothing, but stopped his puffing for a moment, and looked at his candidate son-in-law, as if to ask, "What do you say now?"