The Inspector for his part tried to drive something appropriate into his eyes by holding them wide open and staring fixedly.

The Preacher-at-Early-Service Flachs looked like a Jew beggar riding a runaway horse.  Meanwhile his heart, which was already overcast with the most promising sultry clouds caused by domestic and church-troubles, could have immediately drawn up the necessary water, as easily as the sun before bad weather, if only the floating-house navigating toward him had not always come between as a much too cheerful spectacle, and acted as a dam.

The Consistorial Councillor had learned to know his own nature from New Year’s and funeral sermons, and was positive that he himself would be the first to be moved if only he started to make a moving address to others.  When therefore he saw himself and the others hanging so long on the drying-line, he stood up and said with dignity:  Every one who had read his printed works knew for a certainty that he carried a heart in his breast, which needed to repress such holy tokens as tears are—­so as not thereby to deprive any fellowman of something—­rather than laboriously to draw them to the surface with an ulterior motive.  “This heart has already shed them, but in secret, for Kabel was my friend,” he said, and looked around.

He noticed with pleasure that all were sitting there as dry as wooden corks; at this special moment crocodiles, stags, elephants, witches, ravens[10] could have wept more easily than the heirs, so disturbed and enraged were they by Glanz.  Flachs was the only one who had a secret inspiration.  He hastily summoned to his mind Kabel’s charities and the mean clothes and gray hair of the women who formed his congregation at the early-service, Lazarus with his dogs, and his own long coffin, and also the beheading of various people, Werther’s Sorrows, a small battlefield, and himself—­how pitifully here in the days of his youth he was struggling and tormenting himself over the clause of the will—­just three more jerks of the pump-handle and he would have his water and the house.

“O Kabel, my Kabel!” continued Glanz, almost weeping for joy at the prospect of the approaching tears of sorrow.  “When once beside your loving heart covered with earth my heart too shall mol—­”

“I believe, honored gentlemen,” said Flachs mournfully, arising and looking around, his eyes brimming over, “I am weeping.”  After which he sat down again and let them flow more cheerfully; he had feathered his nest.  Under the eyes of the other heirs he had snatched away the prize-house from Glanz, who now extremely regretted his exertions, since he had quite uselessly talked away half of his appetite.  The emotion of Flachs was placed on record and the house in Dog Street was adjudged to him for good and all.  The Burgomaster was heartily glad to see the poor devil get it.  It was the first time in the principality of Haslau that the tears of a school-master and teacher-of-the-church