“Ach, see! you got no time for talking to, ain’t it?” she apologized.
“Heaps of time,” I politely assured her, “don’t hurry. But why not have a chair and be comfortable?”
Frau Knapf was not to be deceived. “I go in a minute. But first it is something I like to ask you. You know maybe Frau Nirlanger?”
I shook my head.
“But sure you must know. From Vienna she is, with such a voice like a bird.”
“And the beads, and the gray gown, and the fringe, and the cigarettes?”
“And the oogly husband,” finished Frau Knapf, nodding.
“Oogly,” I agreed, “isn’t the name for it. And so she is Frau Nirlanger? I thought there would be a Von at the very least.”
Whereupon my visitor deserted the doorknob, took half a dozen stealthy steps in my direction and lowered her voice to a hissing whisper of confidence.
“It is more as a Von. I will tell you. Today comes Frau Nirlanger by me and she says: ‘Frau Knapf, I wish to buy clothes, aber echt Amerikanische. Myself, I do not know what is modish, and I cannot go alone to buy.’”