"'So I should judge,' answered Pagan sleekly. 'I should like another cup of this coffee, if I may trouble you, Mrs. du Plessis.'
"He laid his cup on the table and bit his nails while I filled it, glancing round at my poor room the while and smiling to himself.
"'Yes,' he said, 'I like the coffee, but I don't like the bricks. They're no good at all.'
"We both stared at him, silent and aghast, and the white- haired old man chuckled in our stricken faces.
"'What is wrong with them?' demanded Kornel at last. His face was white, but he spoke quite naturally.
"'Aha!' laughed old Pagan. 'Ye see, there's no trade, that ye can take up without a bit o' learning, not even makin' mud-bricks. The very same thing happened to me. Lord, it's past forty years ago, I turned out six hundred dozen, and had 'em thrown on my hands. It nearly broke my heart.'
"'I can understand that,' said Kornel. 'But what is wrong with my bricks?'
"Old Pagan set his cup back on the table and sat up in his chair. As he began to speak he hitched back the sleeves of his coat and moved his neck in his white collar.
"'See here!' he said. 'It's a little thing, like turning up the toe of a horseshoe, but just as essential. When ye set your full moulds out to dry, did ye set 'em on edge, to drain away the water? Ye did not? Well, that's what's wrong. They're just mud-pies-lumps o' damp dirt, that'll crumble as soon as they're dry. There's ninety dozen of 'em, by my count, and there'll not be three dozen that ye could use in any way consistent wi' conscience. Do ye take my meanin'?'
"Kornel nodded very thoughtfully.