"Take a look at this." I showed thirty-five marks in the palm of my hand.
"Magnificent," said Koster. "That's twenty marks' profit.
We'll blow them at once.
Must celebrate the maiden voyage."
"We're going to have a bowl of woodruff-wine," announced Lenz.
"Bowl?" I asked. "What do you mean, bowl?" "Well. Pat's coming."
"Pat?"
"Don't open your trap so wide," said the last of the romantics. "We fixed it long ago.
We collect her at seven.
She knows all about it.
If you can't think of these things, then we must help ourselves.
After all it was through us you came to know her."
"Otto," said I, "did you ever see anything to beat this recruit for insolence?"
Koster laughed.
"What's wrong with your hand, Bob?
You seem to be holding it a bit queer."
"Dislocated, I think." I recounted the story of Gustav.
Lenz looked at it.
"Quite.
But, in spite of your rudeness, as a Christian and retired student of medicine I'll massage it for you.
Come along, Mister Boxer."
We went into the workshop and Gottfried got busy with my hand with some oil.
"Did you tell Pat we were celebrating our first-day jubilee as taxidrivers?" I asked him.
Gottfried whistled.
"Is that biting you already, lad?"
"Hold your tongue," I replied. Because he was right probably. "Did you tell her?"
"Love," announced Gottfried imperturbably, "is a beautiful thing.
But it spoils character."
"Solitude, on the other hand, makes one tactless."
"Tact is a tacit agreement to ignore mutual failings instead of ridding yourself of them.
That is to say a despicable compromise.
No self-respecting German veteran would stoop to it, baby."
"What would you do then, in my place," said I, "if someone signalled you for a taxi-ride and then you saw it was Pat?"
He smiled.
"I wouldn't ask her for her fare, anyway, my boy."
I gave him a dig that knocked him off his three-legged stool. "You grasshopper.
Do you know what I'm going to do?
I'm going to collect her to-night in the taxi."
"Excellent." Gottfried raised a hand in blessing. "Only whatever you do, don't lose your freedom.
It is more precious than love and you only find out afterwards.
You are not getting the taxi all the same.
We want it for Ferdinand Grau and Valentin.
It's going to be a solemn, but great evening."
We were sitting in the garden of a small inn on the outskirts of the city.
The wet moon hung like a red torch low over the forest.
The flowery candelabra of the chestnut trees shimmered pale, the scent of the lilac was like a drug, and on the table before us the big glass bowl with the wine smelling of woodruff looked in the dim light like a bright opal wherein was gathered up blue and mother-of-pearl, the last glow of evening.
Already we had refilled it four times.
Ferdinand was in the chair.
Beside him sat Pat.
She was wearing a pale pink orchid which he had brdught for her.