A trifle too fanciful perhaps, but all the same, that about Meyer and Son was very good.
Is your mother Jewish?"
"No."
"Have you ever been in ready-mades?"
"Yes."
"You see, hence the style.
In what branch?"
"Souls," I replied. "I was meant for a schoolteacher."
"Herr Lohkamp," said Blumenthal. "Respects!
If you are ever out of a job, look me up."
He wrote out a cheque and gave it to me. I could hardly believe my eyes.
Prepayment!
A miracle!
"Herr Blumenthal," said I, overcome, "allow me to include free with the car two cut-glass ash-trays and a first class rubber mat."
"Grand," he remarked. "Even old Blumenthal gets'something given him."
Then he invited me to supper the next evening.
Frau Blumenthal smiled motherly approval.
"There will be stuffed pike," said she gently. "A delicacy," said I. "Then I'll bring the car along.
We'll put in the final touches first thing in the morning."
I flew back to the workshop like a swallow.
But Lenz and Otto had gone out to lunch.
I should have to moderate my triumph.
Only Jupp was there.
"Sold?" he asked.
"You'd like to know that, wouldn't you?" said I. "Here's a dollar.
Go and build yourself an aeroplane."
"It is sold, then," grinned Jupp.
"I'm going out now to eat," said I; "but woe betide you if you say anything to the others before I get back."
"Herr Lohkamp," he assured me, spinning the dollar in the air, "I'm a grave."
"You look like it," said I and stepped on the gas.
As I entered the yard again Jupp made me a sign.
"What's the matter?" I asked. "Have you opened your trap?"
"Herr Lohkamp!
Like iron!" He grinned. "Only, the Ford bloke is inside."
I left the Cadillac in the yard and went into the workshop.
The baker was there, just bending over a book of colour samples.
He had on a checked overcoat with a broad mourning band.
Beside him was standing a pretty creature with quick black eyes, an open cloak with rabbit-fur trimmings, and patent leather shoes too small for her. They were entertaining themselves with the colour of the varnish.
The dark person was for brilliant cinnobar; but the baker had it against red, as he was still in mourning.
He suggested a pale yellow-grey.
"Ach, what," pouted the dark one; "a Ford has to be strikingly varnished. Otherwise it looks like nothing at all."
She shot imploring glances at us, shrugged her shoulders when the baker resisted, grimaced and winked at us.
A gay spark!
Finally they compromised on mignonette green.
The girl wanted a bright hood to go with it.
But there the baker was firm—the mourning must come out somewhere. He held out for a black leather hood—and incidentally did a good stroke of business, in that not only was he getting the hood for nothing, but leather was dearer than fabric.
The two left. But in the yard was yet another delay. The dark one no sooner spotted the Cadillac than she shot up to it.
"Oh, look, Puppi, there is a car!
Marvellous!
That's the sort I like."