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between the houses, lashed the window-panes with rain, and howled down the chimney. "Good Lord!" he said, blowing out the smoke. "Do you think the Wullenwewer will get into port, Buddenbrook? What abominable weather!" Yes, and the news from Travem�as not of the best, Consul Kr� agreed, chalking his cue. Storms everywhere on the coast. Nearly as bad as in 1824, the year of the great flood in St. Petersburg. Well, here was the coffee. They poured it out and drank a little and began their game. The talk turned upon the Customs Union, and Consul Budden-brook waxed enthusiastic. "An inspiration, gentlemen," he said. He finished a shot and turned to the other table, where the topic had begun. "We ought to join at the earliest opportunity." Herr K�n disagreed. He fairly snorted in opposition. "How about our independence?" he asked incensed, supporting himself belligerently on his CUB. "How about our self-determination? Would Hamburg consent to be a party to this Prussian scheme? We might as well be annexed at once! Heaven save us, what do we want of a customs union? Aren't we Well enough as we are?" "Yes, you and your red wine, K�n. And the Russian products are all right. But there is little or nothing else im-ported. As for exports, well, we send a little corn to Holland and England, it is true. But I think we are far from being well enough as we are. In days gone by a very different busi-ness went on. Now, with the Customs Union, the Mecklen-burgs and Schleswig-Holstein would be opened up--and pri-vate business would increase beyond all reckoning...." "But look here, Buddenbrook," Cratjens broke in, leaning far over the table and shifting his cue in his bony hand as he took careful aim, "I don't get the idea. Certainly our own system is perfectly simple and practical. Clearing on the security of a civic oath--" "A fine old institution," the Consul admitted. "Do you call it fine, Herr Consul?" Senator Langhals spoke with some heat. '"I am not a merchant; but to speak frankly--well, I think this civic oath business has become little short of a farce: everybody makes light of it, and the State pockets the loss. One hears things that are simply scandalous. I am convinced that our entry into the Customs Union, so far as the Senate is concerned--" Herr K�n flung down his cue. "Then there will be a conflick," he said heatedly, forgetting to be careful with his pronunciation." I know what I'm sayin'--God help you, but you don't know what you're talkin' about, beggin' your par-don." Well, thank goodness! thought the rest of the company, as Jean Jacques entered at this point. He and Pastor Wunderlich came together, arm in arm, two cheerful, unaf-fected old men from another and less troubled age. "Here, my friends," he began. "I have something for you: a little rhymed epigram from the French." He sat down comfortably opposite the billiard-players, who leaned upon their rues across the tables. Drawing a paper from his pocket and laying his long finger with the signet ring to the side of his pointed nose, he read aloud, with a mock-heroic intonation: "When the Marechal Saxe and the proud Pompadour Were driving out gaily in gilt coach and four, Frelon spied the pair: 'Oh, see them,' he cried: 'The sword of our king--and his sheath, side by side.'" Herr K�n looked disconcerted for a minute. Then he dropped the "conflick" where it was and joined in the hearty laughter that echoed to the ceiling of the billiard-room. Pas-tor Wunderlich withdrew to the window, but the movement of his shoulders betrayed that he was chuckling to himself. Herr Hoffstede had more ammunition of the same sort in his pocket, and the gentlemen remained for some time in the billiard-room. Herr K�n unbuttoned his waistcoat all the way down, and felt much more at ease here than in the dining-room. He gave vent to droll low-German expressions at every turn, and at frequent intervals began reciting to himself with enormous relish: "When the Mar�al Saxe..." It