The first idle hour he had, Anton drew from memory the castle, the balcony, and the turrets, on the best paper the town could afford; the next, he put the drawing in a gilt frame, and hung it over his sofa.
CHAPTER V.
Just at first Anton found some difficulty in adapting himself to the new world in which he was placed.
The business was one of a kind becoming rare nowadays, when rail-roads and telegraphs unite remotest districts, and every merchant sends from the heart of the country to bid his agents purchase goods almost before they reach the shore. Yet there was a something about this old-fashioned house of a dignified, almost a princely character; and what was still better, it was well calculated to inspire confidence. At the time of which we speak, the sea was far off, facilities of communication were rare, so that the merchants' speculations were necessarily more independent, and involved greater hazard. The importance of such a mercantile house as this depended upon the quantity of stores it bought with its own money and at its own risk. Of these, a great part lay in long rows of warehouses along the river, some in the vaults of the old house itself, and some in the warehouses and stores of those around. Most of the tradesmen of the province provided themselves with colonial produce from the warehouses of the firm, whose agents were spread to east and south, and carried on, even as far as the Turkish frontier, a business which, if less regular and secure than the home trade, was often more lucrative than any other.
Thus it happened that the every-day routine afforded to the new apprentice a wide diversity of impressions and experiences. A varied procession poured through the counting-house from morning to evening; men of different costumes, all offering samples of different articles for sale—Polish Jews, beggars, men of business, carriers, porters, servants, etc. Anton found it difficult to concentrate his thoughts amid this endless going and coming, and to get through his work, simple as it was.
For instance, Mr. Braun, the agent of a friendly house in Hamburgh, had just come in and taken a sample of coffee out of his pocket. While it was being submitted to the principal, the agent went on gesticulating with his gold-headed cane, and talking about a recent storm, and the damage it had done. The door creaked, and a poorly-dressed woman entered.
"What do you want?" asked Mr. Specht.
Then came lamentable sounds, like the peeping of a sick hen, which changed, as soon as the merchant had put his hand into his pocket, into a joyful chuckle.
"Waves mountain-high," cried the agent.