"Good; splendid!" said Von Barwig.
Fico laid the cloth while Poons set the knives and forks.
"And here's a 'arf bottle of wine," said Pinac.
"The same wine as yesterday?" asked Von Barwig.
"The very same wine," replied Pinac, handing him the bottle.
The old man pulled out the cork and smelled the contents of the bottle. "It was wine; it is vinegar," he remarked tersely as he handed Pinac back the bottle. "I prefer coffee!"
Pinac rushed to get it. Poons put on a few coals and some more wood into the little stove, and the process of coffee-making began.
"There's nothing like hot coffee to cheer you up on a cold day," said Von Barwig, rubbing his hands. "Not that I need cheering up, boys," he added quickly; "but hot coffee, the smell alone is enough to—to—whoever invented hot coffee was a genius! The chord of the ninth and the diminished seventh were ordinary discoveries; any musician was bound to stumble across them sooner or later. But this," and he poured the ground coffee into the pot, "is a positive invention of genius!"
Pinac noticed that Von Barwig was thinking of something else than what he was saying, for his eyes were glistening, and he was obviously labouring under some great excitement.
"We could have waited for you, Anton, but we were cold," said Pinac. "And hungry," added Fico.