"Kidney-beans and pumpkins. The whole will form an arbor. In a few weeks the tendrils will run up the threads. Only think, Wohlfart, how well it will look—the green tendrils, the flowers, and the great leaves! I shall cut off most of the pumpkins, but a few of them shall remain. Just picture to yourself the fresh green and the yellow blossoms! What a place it will be to sit with friends over a glass of wine or to sing a quartette in!"
"But, Specht," inquired Anton, laughing, "can you really suppose that the plants will grow in your attic?"
"Why not?" cried Specht, much offended. "They will do as well here as elsewhere. They have sun; I take care that they have air too, and I water them with bullock's blood. They have all they want."
"But they look desperately sick."
"Just as at first they will, of course; the air is still cold, and we have had little sun as yet. They will soon shoot up. When we have no garden, we must do the best we can." He looked complacently around his room, "As to the decorations of a room, you see I can cope with any one—of course, in proportion to my means. However, I have spent a good deal upon it; and so, though not large, it is thoroughly comfortable."
"Yes," rejoined Anton, "except for a certain class of restless men who like freedom to move about. You can have no visitors here but those who are content to sit down the moment they enter."
"To sit quiet is one of the first rules of good society," rejoined Specht. "Unfortunately, men are often heartless and worthless. Do you not find, Wohlfart, that in our counting-house there are many very unfeeling?"
"Often a little blunt," replied Anton, "but kind-hearted at bottom."
"That is not my experience," sighed Specht. "I am now quite alone, and must seek my comfort out of doors. When I can, I go to the theatre, or to the circus, or to see a dwarf or a giant if they happen to come round, and of course I go to the concerts."
"But even there you are solitary."