“Come on! We’ll buy a pickle,” exclaimed Bess. “Surely he won’t think that very much of an intrusion.”
When the tinkling little bell over the door announced the girls’ entrance the German appeared from the rear premises, wiping his eyes on a checked handkerchief. He knew the two girls from the Hall by sight.
“Goot afternoon, fraulein,” he said, in greeting. “Iss de school oudt yet?”
“Most of the classes are over for the day, sir,” Nan replied, as Bess took much time in selecting the wartiest and biggest pickle in the Deuseldorf collection.
“Iss mein Frau come the town in yet?” pursued the little man, whose idiomatic speech often amused the girls when they came to the store.
“I believe she was correcting exercises, sir,” Nan said, smiling. “I expect we girls make her much extra trouble.”
“Ach!” he responded. “Trouble we haf in blenty—yes. But that iss light trouble. Idt iss of our Hans undt Fritz we haf de most trouble. Yes!”
Nan and Bess knew that the German couple worked only, and saved and “scrimped” only, for the support of two grown sons in the military service of the Fatherland. They desired that Hans and Fritz should have the best, and marry well. But for a young Prussian officer to keep up appearances and hold a footing among his mates, costs much more than his wage as a soldier.
“I hope your sons are well, Herr Deuseldorf,” Nan said, speaking carefully.
“Vell? Ja—they no sickness have. But there iss more trouble as sickness—Ach! mein Frau, she come!” he exclaimed.