IT was quite dark when I finally came across a sort of tap-room “restaurant” whose quaint¹ atmosphere charmed me. The usual pewter plates and tankards adorned² the dull red and brown walls. A line of leather-covered seats followed the walls, in front of which were ranged long tables.

 

My arrival here with a quiet request for food put a sort of panic into the breast of my small but stout³ host, who, when I came in, was playing checkers with another middle-aged⁴ Mayener, but who, when I asked for food, gave over his pleasure for the time being and bustled⁵ out to find his wife. He looked not a little like a fat sparrow.

 

“Why, yes, yes,” he remarked briskly, “what will you have?”

 

“What can I have?”

 

On the instant he put his little fat hand to his semi-bald pate⁶ and rubbed it ruminatively⁷. “A steak, perhaps. Some veal⁸? Some sausage?”

 

“I will have a steak, if you don’t mind and a cup of black coffee.”

 

He bustled out and when he came back I threw a new bomb into camp. “May I wash my hands?”

 

“Certainly, certainly,” he replied, “in a minute.” And he bounded upstairs. “Katrina! Katrina! Katrina!” I heard him call, “have Anna make the washroom ready. He wishes to wash his hands. Where are the towels? Where is the soap?”

 

There was much clattering⁹ of feet overhead. I heard a door being opened and things being moved. Presently450 I heard him call, “Katrina, in God’s name, where is the soap!” More clattering of feet, and finally he came down, red and

分享到：