Jason Philip had been invited to a sociable evening in the Shufflers'
Club. He was now enjoying his siesta after his banquet by reading an
editorial in the _Kurier_. One of Bismarck's addresses had been so
humorously commented on that every now and then Jason Philip emitted a
malevolent snarl of applause.
He had brought a lemon along home with him; it was lying on a plate
before him, sliced and covered with sugar. From time to time he would
reach over, take a piece and stick it in his mouth. He smacked his
tongue with the display of much ceremony of his kind, and licked his
lips after swallowing a piece. His two sons gaped at his hand with
greedy eyes and likewise licked their lips.
Willibald was groaning over an algebraic equation. In his pale, pimpled
face were traces of incapability and bad humour. Markus, owing to his
physical defect, was not allowed to study by artificial light. He helped
his mother shell the peas, and in order to make her angry at Philippina,
kept making mean remarks about her staying out so long.
Just as the last piece of the lemon disappeared behind Jason Philip's
moustache, the door bell rang.
"There is a man out there," said Markus, who had gone to the door and
was now standing on the threshold, stupidly staring with his one
remaining eye.
Jason Philip stretched his neck. Then he got up. He had recognised
Daniel standing in the half-lighted hall.
"I have something to say to you," said Daniel, as he entered the room.
His eyes gazed on the walls and at the few cheap, ugly, banal objects
that hung on them: a newspaper-holder with embroidered ribbons; a corner
table on which stood a beer mug representing the fat body of a monk; an
old chromic print showing a volunteer taking leave of his big family as
he starts for the front. These things appealed to Daniel somewhat as an
irrational dream. Then, taking a deep breath, he fixed his eyes on Jason
Philip. In his mind's eye he looked back over many years; he saw himself
standing at the fountain in Eschenbach. Round about him glistened the
stones and cross beams of the houses. Jason Philip was hurrying by at a
timid distance. There was bitterness in his face: he seemed to be
fleeing from the world, the sun, men, and music.
"I have something to say to you," he repeated.
Theresa felt that the worst of her forebodings were about to be
fulfilled. With trembling knees she arose. She did not dare turn her
eyes toward the place in the room where Daniel was standing. She did not
see, she merely sensed Jason Philip as he beckoned to her and his sons
to leave the room. She took Markus by the hand and Willibald by the
coat-sleeve, and marched out between the two.
"What's the news?" asked Jason Philip, as he crossed his arms and looked
at the pile of beans on the table. "You have a--what shall I say?--a
very impulsive way about you. It is a way that reminds me of the fact
that we have a law in this country against disturbing the peace of a
private family. Your stocks must have gone to the very top of the market
recently. Well, tell me, what do you want?"
He cleared his throat, and beat a tattoo on the elbows of his crossed
arms with his fingers.
Daniel felt that his peace was leaving him; his own arm seemed to him
like a shot-gun; it itched. But thus far he could not say a thing. The
question he had in mind to put to Jason Philip was of such tremendous
import that he could not suppress his fear that he might make a mistake
or become too hasty.
"Where is the money my father gave you?" came the words at last, rolling
from his lips in a tone of muffled sullenness.
The colour left Jason Philip's face; his arms fell down by his side.
"The money? Where it's gone to? That your father--?" He stuttered in
confusion. He wanted to gain time; he wanted to think over very
carefully what he should say and what he could conceal. He cast one
glance at Daniel, and saw that it was not possible to expect mercy from
him. He was afraid of Daniel's bold, lean, sinewy face.
He nearly burst with anger at the thought that this young man, for whom
he, Jason Philip, was once the highest authority, should have the
unmitigated audacity to call him to account. In this whole situation he
pictured himself as the immaculate man of honour that he wished he was
and thought he was in the eyes of his fellow citizens. At the same time
he was nearly stifled with fear lest he lose the money which he had long
since accustomed himself to regard as his own, with which he had worked
and speculated, and which by this time was as much a part of his very
being as his own house, his business, his projects. He buried his hands
in his pockets and snorted. His cowardly dread of the consequences of
fraud forced him into a half confession of fraud, but in his words lay
the feverish pettifogging of the frenzied financier who fights for
Mammon even unto raging and despair.
"The money is here; of course it is. Where did you think it was? My
books will show exactly how much of it has found its way over to
Eschenbach in the shape of interest and loans. My books are open to
inspection; the accounts have been kept right up to this very day. I
have made considerable progress in life. A man who has lived as I have
lived does not need to fear a living soul. Do you imagine for a minute
that Jason Philip Schimmelweis can be frightened by a little thing like
this? No, no, it will take more of a man than you to do that. Who are
you anyhow? What office do you hold? What authority have you? With what
right do you come rushing into the four walls of my home? Do you perhaps
imagine that your artistic skill invests you with special privileges? I
don't give a tinker's damn for your art. The whole rubbish is hardly
worth spitting on. Music? Idiocy. Who needs it? Any man with the least
vestige of self-respect never has anything to do with music except on
holidays and when the day's work is done. No, no, you can't impress me
with your music. You're not quite sane! And if you think that you are
going to get any money out of me, you are making the mistake of your
life. It is to laugh. If a man wants money from me, he has to come to me
at least with a decent hair-cut and show me at least a little respect.
He can't come running up like a kid on the street who says: 'Mumma, gif
me a shent; I want to buy some tandy.' No, no, son, you can't get
anything out of me that way."
The smile that appeared on Daniel's face filled Jason Philip with mortal
terror. He stopped his talk with incriminating suddenness. He decided to
hold in and to promise Daniel a small payment. He hoped that by handing
over a few hundred marks he could assure himself the desired peace of
mind.
But Daniel never felt so certain of himself in his life. He thought of
the hardships he had had to endure, and his heart seemed as if it were
on fire. At the same time he was ashamed of this man and disgusted with
him.
He said quietly and firmly: "I must have three thousand seven hundred
marks by ten o'clock to-morrow morning. It is a question of saving an
honourable and upright family from ruin. If this sum is handed over to
me promptly, I will waive all rights to the balance that is due me, in
writing. The receipt will be filled out ready for delivery in my house.
If the money is not in my hands by the stipulated time, we will meet
each other in another place and in the presence of people who will
impress you."
He turned to go.
Jason Philip's mouth opened wide, and he pressed his fist to the hole
made thereby. "Three thousand seven hundred marks?" he roared. "The man
is crazy. Completely crazy is the man. Man, man, you're crazy," he cried
in order to get Daniel to stop. "Are you crazy, man? Do you want to ruin
me? Don't you hear, you damned man?"
Daniel looked at Jason Philip with a shudder. The door to the adjoining
room sprang open, and Theresa rushed in. Her face was ashen pale; there
were just two little round red spots on her cheek bones. "You are going
to get that money, Daniel," she howled hysterically, "or I am going to
jump into the Pegnitz, I'll jump into the Pegnitz and drown myself."
"Woman, you ..." he gnashed his teeth, and seized her by the shoulder.
She sank down on a chair, and, seizing her hair, continued: "He is
everywhere, and wherever he is, our dear Gottfried, he is looking at me.
He stands before the clothes press, at the cupboard, by my bedside,
nods, exhorts, raises his finger, finds no peace in his grave, and does
not let me sleep; he has not let me sleep all these years."
"Now listen, you had better think of your children," snapped Jason
Philip.
Theresa let her hands fall in her lap, and looked down at the floor:
"All that nice money, that nice money," she cried. Then again, this time
with a face distorted beyond easy recognition and at the top of her
voice: "But you'll get it, Daniel; I'll see to it that you get it: I'll
bring it to you myself." Then again, in a gentle voice of acute
lamentation: "All that nice money."
Daniel was almost convulsed. It seemed to him as if he had never rightly
understood the word _money_ before, as if the meaning of _money_ had
never been made clear to him until he heard Theresa say it.
"To-morrow morning at ten o'clock," he said.
Theresa nodded her head in silence, and raised her hands with
outstretched fingers as if to protect herself from Jason Philip.
Willibald and Markus had crept under the door. The gate must not have
been closed, for just then Philippina came in. She had come over with
Daniel, but had remained outside on the street. She could not wait any
longer; she was too anxious to see the consequences of her betrayal.
She looked around with affected embarrassment. Was it merely the sight
of her that aroused Jason Philip's wrath? Was it the half-cowardly,
half-cynical smile that played around her lips? Or was it the cumulative
effect of blind anger, long pent up and eager to be discharged, that
made Jason Philip act as he did? Or did he have a vague suspicion of
what Philippina had done? Suffice it to say, he leapt up to her and
struck her in the face with his fist.
She never moved a muscle.
Indignant at the rudeness of his conduct, Daniel stepped between Jason
Philip and his daughter. But the venomous scorn in the girl's eyes
stifled his sympathy; he turned to the door, and went away in silence.
"All that nice money," murmured Theresa.