I cursed myself.
A nice impression the girl must have got of me!
She was sure to have noticed.
She hardly drank anything herself.
And she had given me such a queer look when we parted. . . .
Herrgott! I swung round.
As I did so I bumped into a fat little man.—"Eh?" said I peevishly.
"Keep your eyes open, can't you, you bucking broomstick!" barked the fat man.
I stared at him.
"Never seen a human being before, I suppose, eh?" he snapped again.
He was just my mark.
"Human beings, yes," said I, "but not beer barrels that walk." "Streak of misery!" said he. "Fat old fool," I responded.
Solemnly he raised his hat. "Pass friend," said he, and we parted.
The exchange of courtesies refreshed me, but my vexation remained.
Indeed it got worse the soberer I became.
I felt as clever as a wet towel.
But gradually I ceased to be annoyed with myself alone: I was annoyed with everything —the girl included.
It was her fault that I had got drunk.
I turned up my coat collar.
She could think what she liked for all of me, I didn't care—who was she anyway?
The whole show could go to the devil for all I cared, too— what was done, was done.
There was nothing more to be done about it.
And just as well, probably. . . .
I went back to the bar and this time got drunk properly.
Chapter IV
The weather turned warm and wet and it rained steadily for several days.
Then it cleared and the sun shone down with a sultry brooding warmth.
When I arrived at the workshop on Friday morning, I found Matilda Stoss, her broom clamped under her arm, standing in the middle of the yard like a mesmerized hippopotamus.
"Just look, Herr Lohkamp, isn't that gorgeous?
Every time it's a fresh miracle."
I stood in astonishment—the old plum tree by the petrol pump had blossomed overnight.
There it had stood, bent and bare, all winter; we used to hook up old tyres in it and stand oil cans to drain in its branches; it had been just a convenient rack on which to hang everything from polishing-rags to engine-bonnets. Only a few days ago our newly washed dungarees were flapping from its branches; even so late as yesterday there had been nothing specially noticeable about it; and now suddenly overnight, it had been transformed, enchanted into a shimmering cloud of pink and white, a cloud of bright blossoms, as if a swarm of butterflies had suddenly settled on our grimy workshop.
"And the smell!" said she, rolling her eyes with enthusiasm. "Marvellous!
Just like rum."
I smelt nothing, but I understood immediately.
"Smells like customers' cognac to me," I suggested.
She denied it emphatically. "You must have a cold, Herr Lohkamp.
Or is it polyps, perhaps?
Almost everyone has polyps nowadays.
No, old Stoss has a nose like a bloodhound; you take it from me, it's rum, old rum."
"All right, Matilda. . . ."
I poured out a glass of rum and then went out to the petrol pump.
Jupp was already sitting there.
In a rusty jam tin beside him he had several sprays of blossom.
"What's this in aid of?" I asked in surprise.
"For the ladies," explained Jupp. "When they fill up they get a spray gratis.
I've sold ninety litres more already.
The tree is worth its weight in gold.
If we didn't have it we'd have to make an artificial one."
"You've the making of a smart businessman, boy," said I.