I made up my mind to take the first steps myself toward an understanding with Krakow, although I had every reason to believe his threat applied to me, too. I had had several tilts with him in the county council.
But I--look at me--I don't mean to boast--I can fell a bull with this fist of mine. So a few curs don't need to make me take to my heels.
Well, then.
CHAPTER II
So I let three days pass, gentlemen, to sleep on the matter--then my two coach-horses into the harness--my yellow trap--and heigho for Krakowitz. Beautiful bit of property, no denying that. Somewhat run down, but full of possibilities. Lots of black fallow--might do for winter kale or something of the sort. The wheat so-so. The cattle splendid.
The courtyard! Well, you know, a courtyard is like the human heart. Once you have learned to see into it, you cannot be bamboozled so easily. There are neglected hearts, but you can see gold nuggets peeping out through the dirt. Then there are hearts all done up and polished and smartened, hearts fed up, you might say, on arsenic. They glitter and glisten, and all you can say when you look at them is "By Jingo!" Yet they are rotten and mouldy. There are hearts in the ascending and descending scale, hearts of which the better is more hopeless than the much, much worse, because the worse improves while the other gradually declines. Well, and so on.
The Krakowitz yard was a little of all this. Bright, clean barns, miserable wagons, fine drains for the stables, but the stalls badly placed. An air of whimsicality about the whole place, with a touch of stinginess or lack of means. From appearances it is difficult to distinguish between the two. The manor-house--two stories, red brick faced with yellow stones and overgrown with ivy. In a word, not bad, something unstudied about it--well, you know what I mean.
"Is the Baron at home?"
"Yes. What name shall I give?"
"Hanckel, Baron Hanckel--Ilgenstein."