"One lives," he replied laughing, "and it's not altogether unlike a play."
There were five of us, two older and three younger.
After a while Gustav also put in an appearance.
He looked, glared across at our table, and came over.
With my left hand I gripped the bunch of keys in my pocket and resolved to defend myself till I could not move any more.
But it did not come to that.
Gustav kicked a chair up and dropped into it ill-humouredly.
The host put a glass in front of him.
The beer came. Gustav tipped it down.
A second round was called.
Gustav looked at me askance. He raised his glass.
"Pros't," said he to me, but with a face like mud.
"Pros't," I replied and touched glasses.
Gustav produced a packet of cigarettes.
He proffered it to me, without looking at me.
I took one and gave him a light.
Then I ordered a round of double kiimmel.
We drank them.
Again Gustav gave me a sidelong glance.
"Blighter," said he, but the tone was right.
"Fathead," I replied in like manner.
He turned and faced me.
"It was a good punch."
"Fluke," said I and showed him my thumb. "Bad luck," he replied with a grin. "Gustav's my name, by the way."
"Robert, mine."
"Good.
Then O.K., Robert, eh?
Thought you'd just left your mother's apronstring."
"O.K., Gustav."
From that time on we were friends.
The cabs moved slowly forward.
The actor, who was called Tommy, got a topping fare to the station; Gustav one to the nearest restaurant for thirty pfenning.
He almost exploded with wrath, for he must now, for a profit of ten pfennig, take his place again at the end of the line.
I landed something quite special—an old Englishwoman wanting to look over the town.
I was under way with her almost an hour.
On the return journey I picked up several smaller runs.
By noon when we assembled again at the pub and were eating our rolls and butter, I already felt like an old hand.
There was something of the camaraderie of the Army about it.
Men of every conceivable calling were there.
At most about half had done it always, the rest had just fallen into it one way or another.
Fairly pleased with myself I drove into the yard of our workshop during the afternoon.
Lenz and Koster were waiting for me.
"How much have you made, brothers?" I asked.
"Seventy litres of petrol," reported Jupp.
"Is that all?"
Lenz looked desperately at the sky.
"For a drop of rain!
And then a little collision on the skiddy asphalt right in front of the door!
No one injured, of course.
Just a nice, fat little repair job."