"Yes; and then it is expensive, and I am not, as you know, very well off, nor shall I, I fear, ever be much better. I ought to have been rich," said he, importantly, "but a cousin and trustee of mine brought me to this, else I should have driven my carriage and four. I dare say I should not have been at all happier. If only Pix were not so rude! It is dreadful, Anton, to be daily liable to this. When you were away, I challenged him," said he, pointing to an old rapier on the wall; "but he behaved very ill. I told him I was sorry to be obliged to do it, and offered him a choice of arms and place. He rudely wrote back that he would fight on the ground floor where he was always stationed, and that as to arms I might use any I liked, but that his weapon would be his great brush, with which he was ready to sign his name on both my cheeks. You will allow that I could not consent to that." Anton allowed it.
"And now he sets all the others against me. My position is unbearable. I can not be with them without getting insulted. But I know how to revenge myself. When the pumpkins blow, I will invite all the rest and leave out Pix. I will serve him as he once did you, Wohlfart, and revenge the wrongs of each."
"Very good," said Anton. "But suppose that, as I owe some civility to our colleagues, we unite in giving a party in your room?"
"That is indeed kind of you, Wohlfart," cried Specht, joyously.
"And we will not wait till the pumpkins have grown up; we will bring in a little green in the mean while."
"Very good; fir-trees, perhaps."
"Leave it to me," continued Anton; "and, after all, we won't exclude Pix, but invite him with the rest. That is a much better revenge, and worthy of your good heart."
"You think so?" inquired Specht, doubtfully.
"I am sure of it. I propose next Sunday evening; and will send out the invitations in our joint names."
"In writing," cried Specht, in ecstasy, "on pink paper."