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Then sticking out one of his short legs and making a low bow, he said, "Pardon me I couldn't think of it the Councillor always has the paw." His way of bowing was no mere form, for as he had a long body and short legs it was both deep and reverential. Mr. von Rambow went on first to escape his guest's civilities, and Bräsig brought up the rear.
Mr. von Rambow also smiled, but fortunately it never occurred to Bräsig that their amusement could mean anything but satisfaction with a well delivered speech, so he went on seriously: "And then he came a regular cropper." "I'm very sorry to hear it," said Mr. von Rambow. "Yes," he continued with a, sigh, "these are very hard times for farmers, I only hope they'll change soon.
"As for the Councillor at Pümpelhagen" he always gave the squire of Pümpelhagen his professional title, and laid such an emphasis on the word councillor that one might have thought that he and Mr. von Rambow had served their time in the army together, or at least had eaten their soup out of the same bowl with the same spoon "as for the Councillor at Pümpelhagen, he is very kind to all his people, gives a good salary, and is quite a gentleman of the old school.
No qualification, however, was justified in the eyes of Frank von Rambow and Fred Triddelfitz, the two young men studying agriculture under Hawermann. They fell in love with her, each after his own fashion. Frank deeply and lastingly, Fred whom uncle Bräsig loved to call the "gray hound" ardently if not irretrievably.
Then Bräsig told the "sad life-story" of the old thoroughbred, which had come down to being odd horse about the farm, and which he "had had the honor of knowing from its birth," and told how it "had spavin, grease and a variety of other ailments, and so had been reduced to dragging a cart for its sins." After that he and Hawermann took leave of Mr. von Rambow.
Now was the time for Bräsig to speak if he was going to say anything of importance, so he exclaimed: "It's quite true, Mr. Councillor von Rambow, that he had one, had it, but has it no longer, and it's no use crying over spilt milk. Like many other farmers he met with reverses, and the hardness and wickedness of his landlord ruined him. What do you think of that, Sir?"
Mr. von Rambow is quite changed this summer, he isn't like the same person. He goes about in a dream, forgets all that I tell him, and so I can't rely on him as I used to do. And as for that other stupid dolt, he's worse than ever. Now, Mrs. Behrens, pray don't be angry with Hawermann for calling your nephew a 'stupid dolt." "Certainly not," replied Mrs. Behrens, "for that's just what he is."
"What had Mr. von Rambow to do with it?" "He caught your gray-hound by the scruff of the neck, and perhaps threw me into the water by accident." "What had Fred Triddelfitz to do with it?" asked Hawermann impressively, "and what had Louisa's hat and shawl got to do with it?" "Nothing more than that they didn't fit Mrs. Behrens at all, for she's far too stout to wear them."
Whenever one of them turned the others ducked, so there we sat peeping and ducking till at last I found it a very tiresome amusement, and, leaving my hiding-place, went to join Mr. von Rambow. 'Good-day, I said. 'Good-day, he replied.
'Where? he asked. 'Sitting in the large ditch, I said. 'Did you see young Mr. von Rambow? he asked. 'He's sitting in the next ditch close behind Fred, I replied. 'What are they doing? he asked. 'Playing, I said. 'You don't give me much comfort, he said, 'playing, when there's so much to be done! 'Yes, Charles, I said, 'and I played with them. 'What were you playing at? he asked.
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