"Oh, yes," said I heartily, "we are so far.
I'll lay my hat I can bring him down the last five hundred marks.
You won't pay a pfennig more than seven thousand marks for the Cadillac.
Do you agree?"
"Of course," said the black one quickly. "Surely that's cheap, sweetheart."
"Stop!" The baker held up his hand.
"Now what is the matter with you?" She went for him. "First you say you'll, get the car, and now you stand there again and say you won't."
"He will, all right," I interposed. "We've discussed it already."
"Well, sweetheart—why, then—" She leaned close against him.
He tried to free himself once more but she pressed her full breasts against his arm.
He made an exasperated grimace, but his resistance was weakening. "The Ford—" said he.
"Will be taken in part payment, of course."
"Four thousand marks?"
"It cost you all that?" I asked amiably.
"It must be taken in payment for four thousand marks," declared the baker firmly.
He had at last found the point for counterattack after the first surprise. "The car's as good as new."
"New?" said I. "After that enormous repair—"
"You admitted it yourself only this morning."
"This morning it was another matter.
There is new and new—according as you are buying or selling.
For four thousand marks your Ford would need to have fenders of gold."
"Four thousand marks, or it's nothing," said the baker pig-headedly.
He was now his old self again and apparently meant to make good any recent sentimentality.
"Then au revoir," I replied, and turned to the black one. "I'm sorry, madam—but I cannot make a losing deal.
We make nothing on the Cadillac anyway, so I can't possibly take an old Ford in payment at an enormous price.
Good-bye."
She held me back.
Her eyes flashed and she now fell on the baker so that he did not know if he were coming or going.
"You have said yourself a hundred times the Ford isn't worth a thing any more," she hissed finally with tears in her eyes.
"Two thousand marks," said I. "Two thousand marks, though that is suicide."
The baker said nothing.
"Well come on, say something.
What are you standing around there for and not opening your mouth?" spat the black one.
"You will excuse me," said I, "I'll just go and get the Cadillac.
Perhaps you'll talk it over in the meantime between yourselves."
I had the feeling I could not do better than vanish.
Darkie would follow up the business for me.
An hour later I was there with the Cadillac.
I saw immediately that the quarrel had been settled in the simplest way.
The baker looked a bit rumpled and there was a bed feather hanging from his coat—the dark one on the other hand was flashing, breasts dancing; and she smiled, satisfied and treacherous.
She had changed her dress and was now wearing a thin, clinging silk frock.
In an unobserved moment she nodded to me and winked an eye to say all was in order.
We made a trial run.
Darkie snuggled down comfortably into the wide seat and prattled continuously.
I should have liked to throw her out of the window, but I had need of her still.
The baker sat beside me rather glum.
He was mourning in advance for his money—perhaps the most sincere mourning there is.
We pulled up outside the baker's house and went in again.
The baker left the room to get the money.
He now looked like an old man and I saw that his hair was dyed.