"I have three now," says Martin, pointing to the white-powdered fellows, one of whom is continually running up and down the stairs.
"And is David here yet?" asks Johannes.
"Why, of course," answers Martin; and makes a face as if the mere idea of David's being no longer at the mill had scared him.
"Where has he hidden himself, the old fellow?" Johannes laughingly asks.
"David! David!" shouts Martin's lusty voice above all the clatter of the wheels.
Then from out the darkness, by the motor machine, which rises Cyclops-like from below the woodwork of the galleries, there emerges a long, lanky figure, dipped in flour--a face shows itself on which the indifference of old age has left nothing to be read--a slightly reddened nose, which almost meets the bristly chin, weak and sulky eyes hidden beneath bushy brows, and a mouth which seems to be continually chewing.
"What do you want me for, master?" he asks, planting himself in front of the brothers without removing the clay pipe which hangs loosely between his lips.
"Here's Johannes," says Martin, patting the old man's shoulder, while a good-natured smile crosses his countenance.
"Don't you know me any more, David?" asks Johannes, holding out his hand in a friendly manner. The old man spits out a stream of brown juice from between his teeth, considers awhile and then mumbles:
"Why shouldn't I know you?"