"It does, mein herr," shouted all of them gladly, and touched their forelocks.
"Everything is yours," added old Conrad, with a comprehensive sweep of his hand that might have put the whole universe in my name.
"Smash that padlock, Max," I said after a second's hesitation.
"I'll bet he can't do it," said Britton, ingeniously.
Very reluctantly Max bared his great arms, spit upon his hands, and, with a pitiful look at his parents, prepared to deal the first blow upon the ancient padlock. The old couple turned their heads away, and put their fingers to their ears, cringing like things about to be whipped.
"Now, one—two—three!" cried I, affecting an enthusiasm I didn't feel.
The sledge fell upon the padlock and rebounded with almost equal force. The sound of the crash must have disturbed every bird and bat in the towers of the grim old pile. But the padlock merely shed a few scabs of rust and rattled back into its customary repose.
"See!" cried Max, triumphantly. "It cannot be broken." Rudolph, his broad face beaming, held the lantern close to the padlock and showed me that it hadn't been dented by the blow.
"It is a very fine lock," cried old Conrad, with a note of pride in his voice.
I began to feel some pride in the thing myself. "It is, indeed," I said. "Try once more, Max."