"Hum," said Gabriel, "if it is something that is given away at that Court it would be like a colored tobacco pouch without any tobacco in it; it must be a title."
"You have hit it," said Mr. Hummel. "What do you think of Sir Court Hat Maker and Householder, Henry Hummel?"
"A swindle," replied Gabriel.
"Right, it was a weakness; but I overcame it at the right time. Then I asked this Chamberlain, 'what would you expect of me'? 'Nothing at all,' he said, 'except that you should carry on a distinguished business!' 'That is the case now,' I said. 'But what hats will they expect me to keep?' For he, who has had experience like mine, becomes suspicious, and look you, Gabriel, then the fraud came out, for what was his idea and expectation? I was in his eyes a man who dealt in straw hats. Then I thanked him for the honor, and turned my back to him."
"But," said Gabriel, "there should be some concession with regard to this matter; we are on good terms now with the people over there; and if you have given your daughter to the family, why not also an article of business?"
"Do not interfere in my affairs," said Mr. Hummel, irritably. "It is bad enough that I, as father, and in a certain degree as neighbor, have been obliged to give up my old grudge. How can one irritate oneself now, when one is obliged to have one's hand pressed here, and to drink family punch under the cursed Muse there? No, I was a weak father, and as a neighbor, an inexcusably fickle man. But, Gabriel, even the worm which is trod upon keeps its sting. And my sting is my business. There the enmity still remains. Every spring, vindictiveness; and every winter, triumph. I have lost my child and made over my money to a coxcomb, but I am still man enough to hold my own against the fellow across the way."
He looked at the empty place on the door-steps, where his dog Spitehahn formerly used to sit.
"I miss him," continued Mr. Hummel, pointing significantly to the ground.
"He is gone," said Gabriel.
"He was a dog after my own heart," continued Mr. Hummel, slowly; "and I have an idea. What do you think, Gabriel, if we were to erect a monument to him in the garden. Here near the street; there would only be a low stone and upon it a single word--'Spitehahn.' When the doors stand open one could read it across the street. It would be a memorial of the poor beast, and especially of the good time when one could pluck the feathers of a Hahn without being indicted for infanticide."