Nevertheless he did not sleep well that night. By seven o'clock he was down in the factory and at once raised a row because the beer bottles of the day before were still lying about. "No boozing here, this is not a barroom. Surely that is in the regulations, Herr Sötbier?"—"Regulations?" said the old bookkeeper. "We have none." Diederich was speechless. He shut himself up with Sötbier in the office. "No regulations? Then, of course, nothing more can surprise me. What are those ridiculous orders on which you are working?" and he scattered the letters about on the desk. "It seems to be high time that I took charge. The business is going to the dogs in your hands."
"To the dogs, Master Diederich?"
"Doctor Hessling to you!"
He insisted that they should underbid all the other factories.
"We cannot do that for long," said Sötbier. "In fact we are not in position at all to execute such large orders as Gausenfeld."
"And you set up to be a business man? We'll simply install more machinery."
"That costs money," replied Sötbier.
"Then we'll get some! I'll bring some style into this business. Wait till you see. If you don't want to back me up, I'll do it alone."
Sötbier shook his head. "Your father and I always agreed, Master Diederich. Together we worked up this business."
"Times are changed, and don't you forget it. I am my own manager."
"Impetuous youth," sighed Sötbier as Diederich slammed the door. He walked through the room in which the mechanical drum, beating loudly, was washing the rags in chlorine and went into the smaller room where the large boiling machine was. In the doorway he unexpectedly met the blackbearded machinist. Diederich started and almost made way for him, but he brushed past him with his shoulder before
