"Then, of course."
"And suppose I should have Döbeln cut up into lots, what do you think I'd realise?"
"Shame on you, boy," I said. "What! Sell the shirt from off your back, chop your bed into kindlings?"
"Uncle," he replied, "you are talking through your hat. I am dead broke."
"How much is it?" I asked.
He mentioned a sum. I'll not tell what it was because I paid it.
I laid down my terms. Firstly, immediate withdrawal from the army. Secondly, his personal management of the estate. Thirdly, the settlement of the lawsuit.
This lawsuit was against Krakow of Krakowitz, and had been going on for years. It had been my old friend's favourite sport. Like all such things, it turned, of course, upon a question of inheritance, and had swallowed up three times as much as the whole business was worth.
Krakow was a boor, so the dispute took on a personal colour, and led to intense hate, at least on Krakow's side, because Pütz was phlegmatic and always took a slightly humorous view of the affair. But Krakow had openly declared and sworn that if any member or servant of the Pütz family set foot on his place, he would sick his dogs on him.
Well, those were my terms. And the boy agreed to them. Whether willingly or unwillingly, I did not enquire.