Part 54 (1/2)

”Well,” said Fritz, who was growing distressed, ”we cannot do anything about it this morning.”

”It isn't necessary, we can begin this afternoon.”

”But what shall the day-laborers be doing meanwhile?”

”Good gracious, the day-laborers!” said Axel, ”always the day-laborers!

The men can employ themselves usefully here, about the yard. Do you hear?” and he turned round, ”you can help grease the wagons.”

Meanwhile the old inspector sat at his desk, trying to write something, something difficult, which clutched at his inmost heart, he was going to separate himself from his master, to break down the bridge, which, between the late Kammerrath and himself, had united heart to heart; he would give notice to quit. He heard,--though not distinctly,--the stupid commotion outside, once he sprang to the window, as if he would give an intelligent order; no; that was all over, he had nothing more to do with it! He tore up the letter which he had written, and began another, but that also did not suit him, he pushed aside his writing materials, and closed his desk. But what now? What should he begin?

He had nothing to do, he was superseded; he threw himself into the sofa-corner, and thought and thought.

When the afternoon came, by the help of the old wheelwright and a couple of intelligent old laborers, the wagons and the barns were so far ready that the harvesting could begin; and it began accordingly.

Axel was on horseback, commanding the whole; Fritz, by his master's order, must also be on horseback; because his old, deaf granny was lame, he rode the old thorough-bred Wallach, which was also a springer; he himself was a sort of adjutant.

Now they could begin. Six spans of horses were fastened to six harvest wagons, and driven in a row, up to the yard,--order is the princ.i.p.al thing,--on one side stood the pitchers and stackers for the barns, on the other the pitchers, loaders and rakers for the field, and, on a given sign, the stackers marched off to the barns, and the field people climbed into the wagons; Axel and Fritz rode on, the wagons followed, and never in the world had there been such order, in the Pumpelhagen farm-yard, as on this fine afternoon; and we must have order.

The old wheelwright, Fritz Flegel, stood in his workshop, and looked at the procession: ”What is all that for?” said he, scratching his head, for he had no appreciation of this beautiful order. ”Well, it is none of my concern,” he said and went back to his work, ”but where is our old Herr Inspector?”

He was sitting in his room thinking; the first heat had pa.s.sed, he stood up and wrote a brief letter, resigning his post at the next Christmas, and asking leave of absence, during the harvest, since he was superfluous under these circ.u.mstances; then he took his hat and stick, and went out, he could stay in doors no longer. He sat down on a stone wall, under the shade of a lilac bush, and looked along the road to Warnitz, from which the harvest wagons must come; but they came not, only Brasig came along the road.

”May you keep the nose on your face, Karl, what sort of performances are you carrying on here? How can you get your rye in yet? it is green as gra.s.s! And how can you bring it in with six wagons in one gang? and what keeps the loaded wagons down there in the road?”

”Brasig, I don't know, you must ask the Herr and Triddelsitz.”

”What?”

”Brasig, I have nothing more to say.”

”What? How? What did you say?” cried Brasig, elevating his eyebrows.

”I have nothing more to say,” said Habermann quietly, ”I am shoved aside, I am too old for the young Herr.”

”Karl,” said Brasig, laying his hand on his old friend's shoulder, ”what is the matter? Tell me about it!”

And Habermann told him how it all happened, and when he had finished Brasig turned round, and looked savagely at the beautiful world, and ground his teeth together, as if he had the world between his teeth, and would crack it, like a tough hazelnut, and called, with a voice half-choked with rage, down the Warnitz road: ”Jesuit! Infamous Jesuit!” and turning back to Habermann said, ”Karl, in this Triddelsitz also, you have warmed a snake in your bosom!”

”Brasig, how can he help it? He must do as he is told.”

”There he comes racing along, and the six wagons behind him, making a procession--of loaded wagons! This is a comedy, this is an agricultural comedy! Go ahead! and when you get to the old bridge turn over!” cried Uncle Brasig, dancing around, recklessly, on his poor gouty legs, as if they had brought about the whole mischief, and must be punished accordingly, for his fierce anger had given place to malicious joy.

”Here we have it!” he exclaimed, in great delight, for it happened just as he had said, as the first full wagon came up to the bridge, at a slow trot, it overset. ”Stop!” they cried, ”thunder and lightening, stop!” Fritz looked round,--well, what, now? He had not the slightest idea what to do; fortunately, he saw Habermann and Brasig, on the stone wall, and rode up to them hastily.

”Herr Inspector----”

”Herr, you have crumbled your bread, and now you may eat it!” cried Brasig.

”Dear Herr Inspector, what shall we do? The wagon lies right across the bridge, and the others cannot get by.”

”Ride quickly----”