Anton listened to this confession with an interest that outweighed the aversion he felt for these—not uncommon—manœuvres of Galician traders. He contented himself with saying to the delinquent, "Your rascality has cost Mr. Schröter a wounded arm; and, had we not appeared upon the scene, you would have stolen from us twenty thousand dollars."
"Not twenty thousand," cried Schmeie; "wool is very low, and there's nothing to be made of tallow. Less than twenty thousand."
"Indeed!" said Anton, disdainfully; "and now, what am I to do with you?"
"Do nothing with me," implored Schmeie, laying his hand on Anton's coat. "Let the whole matter go to sleep. You have the goods, be satisfied with that. It was a good business that which Mausche Fischel was not able to undertake because you hindered him."
"You still regret it," said Anton, indignantly.
"I am glad that you have the property," replied the Jew, "because you shed your blood about it; and therefore do nothing with me; I will see whether I can't please you in other matters. If you have any thing for me to do in this place, it will be a satisfaction to me to help you."
Anton coldly replied, "Although I have promised not to bring your thievishness to judgment, yet we can never deal with you again. You are a worthless man, Tinkeles, and have dealt unfairly with our house. Henceforth we are strangers."
"Why do you call me worthless?" complained Tinkeles. "You have known me as an upright man for years past; how can you call me worthless because I wanted to do a little stroke of business, and was unfortunate and could not do it? Is that worthless?"
"Enough," said Anton; "you may go." Tinkeles remained standing, and asked whether Anton required any new imperial ducats. "I want nothing from you," was the reply. "Go."
The Jew went slowly to the door, and then turning round, observed, "There is an excellent bargain to be made with oats; if you will undertake it with me, I will go shares with you; there is much money to be made by it."