Anton's hand now passed first into that of old Sturm, who powerfully grasped it, and then tried to set the broken bones; next into that of the other five porters, whence it came out red, weak, and slightly dislocated, so that he was glad to put it into his coat pocket. While the five were exchanging greetings with him, one after the other, Sturm suddenly called out, "When does my Karl come?"
"Have you sent for him, then?" asked Anton.
"Sent for him! No," returned Sturm, shaking his head, "that I could not do, because of his situation as bailiff; for if I were to write him word 'come,' he would come if even a million scythes lay in his way. But then the family might want him, and therefore, unless he comes of his own accord, he will not come."
"He will come in the spring," said Anton, looking anxiously into the father's face.
Old Sturm shook his head. "He will not come in the spring—not to me, at least. Perhaps my little manikin may come here, but not to his father any more." He raised his can of beer and took a long draught, then shut down the lid, cleared his throat, and, looking full into Anton's face, solemnly rapped the table. "Fifty!" said he; "one other fortnight, and then it comes."
Anton threw his arm round the old man's shoulders, and looked inquiringly at the others, who held their cigars in their hands, and stood round like the chorus in a Greek tragedy.
"Look you, Mr. Wohlfart," said the chorus-leader, who, considered as a man, was colossal, but as a giant something less than old Sturm, "I will explain matters to you: This man thinks that he is getting weaker, and shall go on getting weaker, and that in a few weeks the day will come when we porters must each take a lemon in our hands, and put a black tail on our hats. We do not wish this." All shook their heads here and looked disapprovingly at Sturm. "There is an old dispute between him and us about the age of fifty. He is determined to be right—that is the whole of it—and our opinion is that he is not right. He has become weaker—that may be. Many are stronger at one time, and weaker at another. Why should the man think of leaving this place on that account? I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Wohlfart, it is downright absurdity on his part."
All the giants confirmed this statement by nodding their heads.
"So, then, he is sick?" inquired Anton, anxiously. "Whereabouts is your complaint, old friend?"
"It is here and there," replied Sturm. "It is in the air—it comes on slowly—it takes first the strength, then the breath. It begins with the legs, and then moves up." He pointed to his feet.