"What is this in aid of, Otto?" said I. "Sold the Cadillac?"
Koster laughed.
"No, Gottfried's doing a bit of floodlighting, that's all."
Both headlamps of the Cadillac were on and the car had been shoved forward so that the beam shone through the window into the yard and fell directly upon the plum tree.
It looked marvellous standing there, so chalky white, the darkness like a black lake lapping about it on either side.
"A grand show," said I. "But where is he?"
"Gone to fetch some grub."
"Good," said I. "I am feeling a bit low myself.
It's probably only hunger."
Koster nodded.
"Eat while you can, Bob; the old soldier's first law.
I went off the rails myself this afternoon —entered Karl for the race."
"What?" said I. "On the sixth?" .
He nodded.
"But, damn it, Otto, all sorts of big guns will be starting in that."
He nodded again.
"In the sports-car class against Braumuller."
I rolled up my sleeves.
"To business then, Otto!
Wholesale oil baths for the favourite."
"Half a mo'," said the last of the romantics, who had just come in. "Fodder first."
He unpacked supper, cheese, bread, raucherwurst as hard as a brick, and sardines.
With it we drank good cool beer.
We ate like a gang of hungry threshers.
Then we set about Karl.
For two hours we worked on him, testing and greasing everywhere.
Afterwards Lenz and I sat down to a second meal.
Gottfried turned on the Ford's light-as well.
In the collision one of the headlamps had remained intact.
From the twisted chasis it now stared up into the sky.
Lenz turned round satisfied.
"So, now bring out the bottles. We must celebrate the Feast of the Flowering Tree."
I placed the cognac, the gin, and two glasses on the table.
"And what about yourself?" asked Gottfried.
"I'm not drinking."
"What?
Why not?"
"Because I'm fed up with this damned boozing."
Lenz contemplated me awhile.
"Our child has over-schnapped himself, Otto," said he at last to Koster.
"Then let him be, if he doesn't want to," replied Koster.
Lenz filled his own glass.
"The lad has been a bit cracked for some time."
"There are worse things," said I.
The moon rose big and red over the roof of the factory opposite.
We sat awhile in silence. "Say, Gottfried," I began at last, "you consider yourself a bit of an expert in matters of love—"
"An expert?
Man, I'm an old master," Lenz modestly replied.
"Fine.
Then you'll be able to tell me: in love does one always behave like a damned fool?"