“Na, they are not to be satisfied, these women! If I were to tell you how lovely you look to me tonight you would draw yourself up with chill dignity and remind me that I am not privileged to say these things to you. So I discreetly mention that you are looking, interestingly pale, taking care to keep all tenderness out of my tones, and still you are not pleased.” He shrugged despairing shoulders.
“Can’t you strike a happy medium between rudeness and tenderness? After all, I haven’t had a glimpse of your blond beauty for three weeks. And while I don’t ask you to whisper sweet nothings, still, after twenty-one days —”
“You have been lonely? If only I thought that those weeks have been as wearisome to you—”
“Not lonely exactly,” I hurriedly interrupted, “but sort of wishing that some one would pat me on the head and tell me that I was a good doggie. You know what I mean. It is so easy to become accustomed to thoughtfulness and devotion, and so dreadfully hard to be happy without it, once one has had it. This has been a sort of training for what I may expect when Vienna has swallowed you up.”
“You are still obstinate? These three weeks have not changed you? Ach, Dawn! Kindchen!—”
But I knew that these were thin spots marked “Danger!” in our conversational pond. So, “Come,” said I. “I have two new aborigines for you to meet. They are the very shiniest and wildest of all our shiny-faced and wild aborigines. And you should see their trousers and neckties! If you dare to come back from Vienna wearing trousers like these!—”
“And is the party in honor of these new aborigines?” laughed Von Gerhard. “You did not explain in your note. Merely you asked me to come, knowing that I cared not if it were a lawn fete or a ball, so long as I might again be with you.”
We were on our way to the dining room, where the festivities were to be held. I stopped and turned a look of surprise upon him.
“Don’t you know that the Knapfs are leaving? Did I neglect to mention that this is a farewell party for Herr and Frau Knapf? We are losing our home, and we have just one week in which to find another.”
“But where will you go? And why did you not tell me this before?”
“I haven’t an idea where I shall lay my poor old head. In the lap of the gods, probably, for I don’t know how I shall find the time to interview landladies and pack my belongings in seven short days. The book will have to suffer for it. Just when it was getting along so beautifully, too.”
There was a dangerous tenderness in Von Gerhard’s eyes as he said: “Again you are a wanderer, eh—small one? That you, with your love of beautiful things, and your fastidiousness, should have to live in this way—in these boarding-houses, alone, with not even the comforts that should be yours. Ach, Kindchen, you were not made for that. You were intended for the home, with a husband, and kinder, and all that is truly worth while.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat as I shrugged my shoulders. “Pooh! Any woman can have a husband and babies,” I retorted, wickedly. “But mighty few women can write a book. It’s a special curse.”
“And you prefer this life—this existence, to the things that I offer you! You would endure these hardships rather than give up the nonsensical views which you entertain toward your—”
“Please. We were not to talk of that. I am enduring no hardships. Since I have lived in this pretty town I have become a worshiper of the goddess Gemutlichkeit. Perhaps I shan’t find another home as dear to my heart as this has been, but at least I shan’t have to sleep on a park bench, and any one can tell you that park benches have long been the favored resting place of genius. There is Frau Nirlanger beckoning us. Now do stop scowling, and smile for the lady. I know you will get on beautifully with the aborigines.”
He did get on with them so beautifully that in less than half an hour they were swapping stories of Germany, of Austria, of the universities, of student life. Frau Knapf served a late supper, at which some one led in singing Auld Lang Syne, although the sounds emanating from the aborigines’ end of the table sounded suspiciously like Die Wacht am Rhein. Following that the aborigines rose en masse and roared out their German university songs, banging their glasses on the table when they came to the chorus until we all caught the spirit of it and banged our glasses like rathskeller veterans. Then the red-faced and amorous Fritz, he of the absent Lena, announced his intention of entertaining the company. Made bold by an injudicious mixture of Herr Knapf’s excellent beer, and a wonderful punch which Von Gerhard had concocted, Fritz mounted his chair, placed his plump hand over the spot where he supposed his heart to be, fastened his watery blue eyes upon my surprised and blushing countenance, and sang “Weh! Dass Wir Scheiden Mussen!” in an astonishingly beautiful barytone. I dared not look at Von Gerhard, for I knew that he was purple with suppressed mirth, so I stared stonily at the sardine sandwich and dill pickle on my plate, and felt myself growing hot and hysterical, and cold and tearful by turns.
At the end of the last verse I rose hastily and brought from their hiding-place the gifts which we of Knapfs’ had purchased as remembrances for Herr and Frau Knapf. I had been delegated to make the presentation speech, so I grasped in one hand the too elaborate pipe that was to make Herr Knapf unhappy, and the too fashionable silk umbrella that was to appall Frau Knapf, and ascended the little platform at the end of the dining room, and began to speak in what I fondly thought to be fluent and highsounding German. Immediately the aborigines went off into paroxysms of laughter. They threw back their heads and roared, and slapped their thighs, and spluttered. It appeared that they thought I was making a humorous speech. At that discovery I cast dignity aside and continued my speech in the language of a German vaudeville comedian, with a dash of Weber and Field here and there. With the presentation of the silk umbrella Frau Knapf burst into tears, groped about helplessly for her apron, realized that it was missing from its accustomed place, and wiped her tears upon her cherished blue silk sleeve in the utter abandon of her sorrow. We drank to the future health and prosperity of our tearful host and hostess, and some one suggested drei mal drei, to which we responded in a manner to make the chin-chucking lieutenant tremble in his frame on the wall.
When it was all over Frau Nirlanger beckoned me, and she, Dr. von Gerhard and I stole out into the hall and stood at the foot of the stairway, discussing our plans for the future, and trying to smile as we talked of this plan and that. Frau Nirlanger, in the pretty white gown, was looking haggard and distrait. The oogly husband was still in the dining room, finishing the beer and punch, of which he had already taken too much.
“A tiny apartment we have taken,” said Frau Nirlanger, softly. “It is better so. Then I shall have a little housework, a little cooking, a little marketing to keep me busy and perhaps happy.” Her hand closed over mine. “But that shall us not separate,” she pleaded. “Without you to make me sometimes laugh what should I then do? You will bring her often to our little apartment, not?” she went on, turning appealingly to Von Gerhard.
“As often as Mrs. Orme will allow me,” he answered.
“Ach, yes. So lonely I shall be. You do not know what she has been to me, this Dawn. She is brave for two. Always laughing she is, and merry, nicht wahr? Meine kleine Soldatin, I call her.
“Soldatin, eh?” mused Von Gerhard. “Our little soldier. She is well named. And her battles she fights alone. But
