Which again would be a pity. Otto decided not to risk forestalment.
III
At the first shiver of Autumn, grandfather had a bad bronchial cold, which meant the luxury of a fire in his bedroom. During such a period all the Marcuses were usually to be found in enjoyment of this available private warmth, as a rest from the perpetual conviviality of the lounge or drawing-room fires. True, it meant that grandfather’s company was thrown in with the fire—but Stella and Ferdie were used to him, and Deb and Richard thought him rather funny.
Otto, when he paid his visit, was received by the three generations of male Marcus. He requested that Richard be ejected, with that lack of ceremony towards his juniors which was so deplorable in the old-fashioned relative.
“All right, Uncle Otto—I wasn’t going to stay, anyway. Where’s David?”
David was in a training-camp. And: “Has that boy of yours nossing to do but pite his head off all day long, Marcus?” when the door had slammed on Richard.
“As much to do as your son-in-law Fürth,” shouted Hermann with irascible emphasis. “Or perhaps you do not visit him often enough to ascertain his occupations? Herr Je! Rothenburg, he was a good enough Schiddach for your daughter Hedvig five years ago....”
Otto did not like being addressed as Rothenburg. Especially as a door behind the cupboard communicated with another bedroom. He glanced uneasily that way....
“There is no policeman there,” his host reassured him. “Our neighbour is a rabbit who calls himself a Special Constable, that is all. And I am convinced, lieber Rothenburg, that your naturalization papers are ready on your person and in complete order. Or—let me see—you are one of those that have changed their names ... Redbury, is it?” the old scoundrel chuckled hoarsely. “Redbury!—poor old Fritzie Rothenburg of Nuremburg—your late uncle and my friend—that would have amused him—Redbury! But you must correct me if I forget.”
And all this, in vengeance for the implied belittling of Richard.