A varied procession poured through the counting-house from morning to evening; men of different costumes, all offering samples of different articles for sale--Polish Jews, beggars, men of business, carriers, porters, servants, etc.

Anton found it difficult to concentrate his thoughts amid this endless going and coming, and to get through his work, simple as it was.
For instance, Mr.Braun, the agent of a friendly house in Hamburgh, had just come in and taken a sample of coffee out of his pocket.

While it was being submitted to the principal, the agent went on gesticulating with his gold-headed cane, and talking about a recent storm, and the damage it had done.

The door creaked, and a poorly-dressed woman entered.
"What do you want ?" asked Mr.Specht.
Then came lamentable sounds, like the peeping of a sick hen, which changed, as soon as the merchant had put his hand into his pocket, into a joyful chuckle.
"Waves mountain-high," cried the agent.
"God reward you a thousand-fold," chuckled the woman.
"Comes to 550 merks, 10 shillings," said Baumann to the principal.
And now the door was vehemently pushed open, and a stoutly-built man entered, with a bag of money under his arm, which he triumphantly deposited on the marble table, exclaiming, with the air of one doing a good action, "Here am I; and here is money!" Mr.Jordan rose immediately, and said, in a friendly voice, "Good-morning, Mr.Stephen; how goes the world in Wolfsburg ?" "A dreadful hole!" groaned Mr.Braun.
"Where ?" inquired Fink.
"Not such a bad place either," said Mr.Stephen; "but little business doing." "Sixty-five sacks of Cuba," returned the principal to a question of one of the clerks.
Meanwhile, the door opened again, and this time admitted a man-servant and a Jew from Brody.

The servant gave the merchant a note of invitation to a dinner-party--the Jew crept to the corner where Fink sat.
"What brings you again, Schmeie Tinkeles ?" coldly asked Fink; "I have already told you that we would have no dealings with you." "No dealings!" croaked the unlucky Tinkeles, in such execrable German that Anton had difficulty in understanding him.