"I go back to our capital, where I have some business to do for the baron, and then I shall look out for a stool in an office."
"And here we have worked together for a year," said Karl, sadly; "you have had all the pains, and another will have the profits."
"I go back to my proper place. But it is of your future, not mine, dear Karl, that I am now come to speak."
"Of course, I go back with you," cried Karl.
"I come to implore you not to do so. Could we set up together, we would never part; but I am not in a position for this. I must seek another situation. Part of the little I possessed is gone; I leave no richer than I came; so we should have to separate when we got home."
Karl looked down and meditated. "Mr. Anton," said he, "I hardly dare to speak of what I do not understand. You have often told me that my old governor is an owl who sits on money-bags. How would it do," stammered he, in embarrassment, working away at the chair with one of his tools, "that if what is in the iron chest be not too little for you, you should take it; and if any thing can be made of it—it is very presumptuous of me—perhaps I might be useful to you as a partner. It is only an idea, and you must not be offended."
Anton, much moved, replied: "Look you, Karl, your offer is just like your generous self, but I should do wrong to accept it. The money is your father's; and even if he gave his consent, as I believe he would, such a plan would involve great risk. At all events, his substance would be better invested in your own calling than in one you might enter into out of love for me; so it is better for you, my friend, that we part."
Karl snatched his pocket-handkerchief, and blew his nose violently before he asked, "And you won't make use of the money? You would be sure to give us good interest?"
"Impossible," replied Anton.
"Then I'll go back to my father, and hide my head in some hayloft about home," cried Karl, in high dudgeon.