I don't know what it was, but there was something touchingly matter-of-fact, almost shocking about it; it was like a gesture out of some distant, buried time; like silent obedience to some command, the reason for which no one now remembered.
She came back to me out of the darkness and took my face in her hands.
"It has been lovely with you, darling.
Lovely.
It is good you are there."
I did not reply.
I could not reply.
I took her home and went back to "The Bar."
Koster was there.
"Sit down," said he. "How goes it?"
"Nothing special, Otto."
"Have something to drink?"
"If I do drink I'll have to drink a lot.
I don't want to do that.
But I wouldn't mind doing something else.
Is Gottfried out with the taxi?"
"No."
"Good.
Then I think I'll take it for a couple of hours."
"I'll come down with you," said Koster.
I took out the car and left Otto. Then I drove to the stand.
In front of me two cars were parked.
After me came Gustav and Tommy, the actor.
Then the two front cars went, and shortly after I also got a fare—a young woman who wanted to go to the Vineta. The Vineta was a popular dance-hall with table telephones, pneumatic post, and similar novelties for provincials.
It lay a little apart from the other places, in a dark side street.
We stopped.
The girl rummaged in her bag and offered me a fifty-mark note.
I gave a shrug.
"Sorry, I can't change it."
The porter had come forward.
"How much is it?" asked the girl.
"One seventy."
She turned to the porter.
"Would you settle it for me?
Come, and I'll give you the money at the cashier's."
The porter flung open the door and went with her to the cashier's desk.
Then he returned.
"There—" I counted.
"One fifty, that is—"
"Don't talk tripe or are you quite green? Two groschen porter's tax if you want to come back.
Hop it."
There were places where one tipped the porter, but that only when he got you a fare, not when you brought one.
"I'm not that green," said I. "I'm getting one seventy."
"You'll get one in the snout," he growled.
"You toe the line, my boy; this is my stand."
I didn't care about the two groschen.
Only I wasn't in a mood to let him do the dirty on me.
"Cut the cackle and pass up the rest," said I.
The porter hit so suddenly that I could not cover myself; nor, on my box, could I dodge it. My head struck the steering wheel.
Dazed, I picked myself up.