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Updated: May 12, 2025
Here it was that the evils of monarchical systems were discussed, the army service, the lack of proper amusement, the restrictions at the stage entrance to the opera; here it was that they concocted their exploits, fought their duels, and planned means of outwitting Old Stuler's slate. This slate was wiped out once the month; that is to say, when remittances came from home.
It had ceased to rain, and a frost was congealing the moisture under foot. On the way back to Stuler's Johann slipped and fell several times; but he was impervious to pain, bruises were nothing. He was rich! He laughed; and from time to time thrust his hand into his vest to convince himself that he was not dreaming. To whom should he sell? To the Osians? To the duchess? To the king that was to be?
"Forget not the gold, the yellow gold; little heaps of it to finger, to count, and to spend." Stuler's eyes gleamed phosphorescently. There was the strain of the ancient marauder in his veins; gold easily gotten. He opened the door, and Johann passed out, swaying. The wine was taking hold of him. He turned into the hall, while Stuler busied himself with the spigots.
He dared not move for three or four minutes. But he waited in vain for other steps. He cursed the serving maid for the fright, disposed of the ladder, and sought the street. He directed his steps toward Stuler's. "The pig of an Englishman was deeper than I thought. In the gun barrels, the gun barrels! If I had not wanted to play they would have been there yet! A hundred thousand crowns!"
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