“Look here—do you want to marry Deb?”
“You come me always with that!” peevishly. “I tell you I am betrothed to Frieda-Marie. I cannot marry your sister. She is only a Jewess.”
“I like your cheek! Then what’s the good of you?”
“I can worship her.”
“Umph!”
“You also, you admire her?”
“She’s not so dusty.”
Again Lothar had to confess himself vanquished. He lugged down an English-German dictionary from the shelf, and conscientiously looked up ‘dusty.’
“Nicht so staubig—ach!... Hark, there is Mama who calls us. Doubtless you are fetched to go home.”