"It's nothing at all, absolute nothing.
Just mud it is."
"And this shack, it's not so bad, eh, Pat?
Other people have better, of course—"
"It is wonderful, this shack," she interrupted me; "it's a perfectly lovely shack, I really don't know any nicer, darling."
"And I, Pat, I have my failings, of course, and I'm only a taxi driver, but—"
"You are a perfect darling—a bread-snatcher, a rum drinker—a darling you are."
With a swing she threw her arms about my neck.
"Ach, you chump I How good it is to be alive!"
"Only with you, Pat.
Truly."
The morning rose up wonderful and bright.
A thin mist still lay over the gravestones below and drifted to and fro.
The treetops were already full of light.
Out of the chimneys of the houses smoke was curling up.
The first newspapers were being called through the streets.
We lay down to a morning sleep, a waking sleep, dreaming on the borders of sleep, each in the arms of the other—wonderful hovering, breath in breath. Then about nine o'clock, as "Geheimrat Burkhard" first I telephoned Lieutenant Colonel Egbert von Hake, personally; and then I telephoned to Lenz, asking him to take over my morning cruise with the taxi.
He interrupted me.
"Leave it to me, child; not for nothing is your Gottfried a connoisseur in the vagaries of the human heart.
I had counted on it already.
Lots of fun, Goldbaby."
"You shut up," said I happily and then explained in the kitchen that I was not well and would stay in bed till midday.
Three times I had to beat off the assault of Frau Zalewski, offering me camomile tea, aspirin, and cold packs.
Then I could smuggle Pat into the bathroom, and we had peace.
Chapter XIV
A week later the baker turned up unexpectedly in the yard.
"You go out, Bob," said Lenz with a poisonous look through the window, "old Pastry-Casanova's sure to be wanting something for nothing."
The baker did look down-in-the-mouth.
"Something wrong with the car?" I asked.
He shook his head.
"No, no.
Running splendidly.
As good as new now."
"Don't I know it," I affirmed, eyeing him with more interest.
"Well, you see—" said he. "It's this way—I rather want another car—a bigger one—" He glanced round the yard. "Didn't I see a Cadillac last time I was here?"
I saw at once what the trouble was.
The dark person he lived with had been busy kneading him a bit.
"The Cadillac? Oh, yes," said I with enthusiasm; "you ought to have got in on that when you had the chance.
An absolute bargain.
Went for seven thousand marks.
A gift, you might say—"
"Well, hardly a gift."
"A gift," I repeated emphatically, considering what should be the next move, "I can enquire, if you like," said I then; "perhaps the chap who bought it is needing money.
These things go quickly nowadays.
Half a mo'."
I went into the shop and quickly told what had happened.
Gottfried leapt up.
"Where can we lay hands on an old Cadillac, boys? Come on, get busy!" "You leave that to me," said I; "you watch the baker doesn't escape in the meantime."
"Done." Gottfried vanished.
I rang up Blumenthal.