I shut my eyes; Lenz turned his back on the track—we meant to tempt destiny.
A cry brought us round.
We were just in time to see Koster pass the finishing line with two metres to spare.
Lenz went crazy.
He flung the tools to the ground and did a handstand on the tyres.
"What did you say a while ago?" he bawled when he was upright again, to the herculean mechanic next door. "Contraption?"
"Ach, man, don't quack at me," replied the mechanic, ill-humouredly.
And, for the first time since I had known him, the last of the romantics did not get an attack of rage at an insult, but a St. Vitus's dance from laughing.
We were waiting for Otto.
He was still occupied with the race authorities.
"Gottfried," suddenly said a hoarse voice behind us.
We turned round. There stood a human mountain in too tight striped trousers, too tight grey jacket, and a black bowler.
"Alfons!" exclaimed Patricia Hollmann.
"Himself," he conceded.
"We've won, Alfons!" she cried.
"That's the stuff, that's the stuff.
Then I guess I've come too late, eh?"
"You never come too late, Alfons," said Lenz.
"Wanted to bring you some grub, as a matter of fact.
Cold pork chops and some pickled cutlets.
Ready cut." "Pass it here and sit down, you lovely boy," cried Gottfried. "We'll start right now."
He undid the parcel.
"My God," said Patricia Hollmann, "there's enough for a regiment!"
"You can't be sure till after," observed Alfons. "And there's a spot of kummel as well."
He produced two bottles.
"Corks are drawn already."
"That's the stuff, that's the stuff," said the girl.
Alfons winked at her benignly.
Karl came blubbering along.
Koster and Jupp sprang out.
Jupp looked like the youthful Napoleon, his ears glowing.
In his arms was a hideous, vulgar, enormous silver cup.
"The sixth," said Koster, laughing. "Extraordinary nothing else ever occurs to them."
"Only the milk jug?" asked Alfons, realistically. "No cash?"
"Oh, yes," Otto reassured him, "cash as well."
"Then we're just about swimming in money," said Grau.
"Looks like being a nice evening."
"At my place?" asked Alfons.
"Of course—official," replied Lenz.
"Pea soup, giblets, trotters and pig' ears," said Alfons, and even Patricia Hollmann's expression was one of respect.
"Gratis, of course," added Alfons.
Braumuller came up, cursing his luck, his hand full of greasy plugs.
"Calm yourself, Oscar," called Lenz.
"First prize in the next pram race is sure to be yours."
"Will you give me my revenge in cognac?" asked Brau-Muller.
"By the beer-glass, if you like," said Grau.
"You don't stand an earthly, Herr Braumuller," declared Alfons. "I've never yet seen Koster blued."
"I've never seen Karl in front of me before, either," retorted Braumuller. "Except to-day."
"Bear it with dignity," said Grau. "Here's a glass for you.
We'll drink to the overthrow of culture by the machine."