The first one he appealed to was the brother-in-law of his sister, First
Lieutenant Kupferschmied, retired. His sister had died six months ago,
leaving nothing; the lieutenant, however, was a well-to-do man. He had
married into the family of a rich merchant. Jordan's relation to him had
always been pleasant; indeed the old soldier seemed to be very fond of
him. But hardly had Jordan explained his mission when the lieutenant
became highly excited. He said he had seen this disaster coming. He
remarked that any man who brings up his children in excessive ease must
not be surprised if they come to a bad end. He remarked, too, that no
power on earth could persuade him to invest one penny in Jordan's case.
Jordan went away speechless.
The second friend he appealed to was his acquaintance of long standing,
Judge Ruebsam. From him he heard a voluble flow of words dealing with
regrets, expressions of disgust, one lament after the other, a jeremiade
on hard times, maledictions hurled at dilatory creditors, infinite
consolation--and empty advice. He assured Jordan that yesterday he had
almost the requisite sum in cash, and that he might have it again some
time next month, but to-day--ah, to-day his taxes were due, and so on,
and so on.
Oppressed by the weight of this unexpected humiliation, he went to the
third friend, a merchant by the name of Hornbusch, to whom he had once
rendered invaluable assistance. Herr Hornbusch had forgotten all about
this, though he had not forgotten that he had vainly sounded in Jordan's
ears a warning against the ever-increasing flippancy of young Benno. He
told Jordan that he himself was just then in urgent need of money, that
he had only last month been obliged to sacrifice a mortgage, and that
his wife had pawned her diamonds.
Thus it went with the fourth friend, an architect who had told him once
that he would sacrifice money and reputation for him if he ever got into
trouble. And it was the same story with the fifth and sixth and seventh.
With a heart as heavy as lead, Jordan decided to take the last desperate
step: He went to Herr Diruf himself. He asked for a three days'
extension of time. Diruf sat inapproachable at his desk. He was smoking
a big thick Havana cigar, his solitaire threw off its blinding
fireworks, he smiled a cold, tired smile and shook his head in
astonishment.
When Jordan came home that evening he found Daniel and Gertrude in the
living room. Gertrude went up to him to support him; then she brought
him a glass of wine as a stimulant: he had not eaten anything since
breakfast.
"Where is Eleanore?" he murmured, but seemed to take no interest in the
reply to his question. He fell down on a chair, and buried his face in
his hands.
Gertrude, who saw his strength leaving him as the light dies out of a
slowly melting candle, became dizzy with compassion. Her last hope was
in Eleanore, who had left at five o'clock simply because she found it
intolerable to sit around, hour after hour, doing nothing but waiting
for the return of her father. At every sound that could be heard in the
house, Gertrude pricked up her ears in eager expectancy.
Daniel stood by the window, and looked out across the deserted square
into the dull red glow of the setting sun.
It struck seven, then half past seven, eight, and Eleanore had not
returned. Daniel began to pace back and forth through the room; he was
nervous. If his foot chanced to strike against a chair, Gertrude
shuddered.
Shortly after eight, steps were heard outside. The key rattled in the
front gate, the room door opened, and in came Eleanore--and Philippina
Schimmelweis.