“Who is that Abraham Blankaart?” asked Louise Rosemeyer, and Fred told her, which gave me much pleasure; for this gave me an opportunity to get up and make an end of the reading—for this evening at least. You know that I am a coffee-broker—[No. 37 Laurier Canal]—and that I live for my profession; you will therefore be able to judge how little pleased I was with the work of Stern. I had hoped it would be about coffee, and he gave usyes, Heaven knows what! He has already had our attention during three parties, and, what is worse, the Rosemeyers like it, I make a remark, he appeals to Louise. Her approbation, he says, is dearer to him than all the coffee in the world, and moreover, when my heart burns, etc.—[look at that tirade, page so-and-so, or rather don’t look for it at all.] There I am, and don’t know what to do! That parcel of Shawlman’s is a true Trojan horse; even Fred is corrupted by it. He helped Stern, as I perceive, for “Abraham Blankaart” is too Dutch for a German. Both are so very self-sufficient that I am truly perplexed with the matter. Worse still, I made an agreement with Gaafzuiger for the publishing of a book about the Coffee-Auctions. All Holland is waiting for it, and there Stern goes quite another way. Yesterday he said: “Be at your ease; different roads lead to Rome: wait for the end of the introduction”—[is all this only “introduction?”]—
