"Alas! alas!" cried the porter, compassionately. He went on shaking his head for a long time, and at length added, in a low voice, to his Karl, "He has no mother."
"And no father either," rejoined Karl.
"Be kind to him, little one," said old Sturm; "you are a sort of orphan yourself."
"Not I," cried Karl; "any one with such a great father as mine to look after has his hands full."
"Why, you are a perfect little monster!" said his father, cheerfully hammering away at a cask.
From that hour Karl showed all manner of small attentions to Anton, and a species of affectionate intimacy sprang up between the two youths.
Indeed, Anton was on excellent terms with all the officials. He listened attentively to Jordan's sensible remarks, was prompt and unconditional in his obedience to Mr. Pix, entered into political discussions with Specht, read with interest Baumann's missionary reports, never asked Mr. Purzel for money in advance, and often encouraged Mr. Liebold to utter some palpable truth without retracting the statement. There was only one with whom he could not get on well, and that was the volunteer clerk, Fink.
One gloomy afternoon, Mr. Jordan chanced to give our hero a certain message to take to another house, and, as he rose, Fink looked up from his desk, and said to Jordan, "Just send him at the same time to the gunsmith—the good-for-nothing fellow can send my gun by him."
Our hero crimsoned. "Do not give me that commission," said he to Jordan; "I shall not execute it."
"Really!" asked Fink, in amazement; "and why not, my fine fellow?"