The German thrust his hand slowly and deeply into his pocket. “I alvayss like to oplyche a yendleman,”—he smiled benignly, drew out a toothpick, and added,—“ovver I nivveh bporrah or lend to ennabodda.”
“An’ then,” said Narcisse, promptly, “’tis imposs’ble faw anybody to be offended. Thass the bess way, Mr. Bison.”
“Yayss,” said the baker, “I tink udt iss.” As they were parting, he added: “Ovver you vait dtill you see mine prate!”
“I’ll do it, seh!— And, Mr. Bison, you muzn’t think anything about that, my not bawing that five dollars fum you, Mr. Bison, because that don’t make a bit o’ dif’ence; an’ thass one thing I like about you, Mr. Bison, you don’t baw yo’ money to eve’y Dick, Tom, an’ Hawwy, do you?”
“No, I dtoandt. Ovver, you yoost vait”—
And certainly, after many vexations, difficulties, and delays, that took many a pound of flesh from Reisen’s form, the pretty, pale-brown, fragrant white loaves of “aërated bread” that issued from the Star Bakery in Benjamin street were something pleasant to see, though they did not lower the price.
Richling’s old liking for mechanical apparatus came into play. He only, in the establishment, thoroughly understood the new process, and could be certain of daily, or rather nightly, uniform results. He even made one or two slight improvements in it, which he contemplated with ecstatic pride, and long accounts of which he wrote to Mary.
In a generous and innocent way Reisen grew a little jealous of his accountant, and threw himself into his business as he had not done before since he was young, and in the ardor of his emulation ignored utterly a state of health that was no better because of his great length and breadth.
“Toctor Tseweer!” he said, as the physician appeared one day in his office. “Vell, now, I yoost pet finfty tawllars tat iss Mississ Reisen sendts for you tat I’m sick! Ven udt iss not such a dting!” He laughed immoderately. “Ovver I’m gladt you come, Toctor, ennahow, for you pin yoost in time to see ever’ting runnin’. I vish you yoost come undt see udt!” He grinned in his old, broad way; but his face was anxious, and his bared arms were lean. He laid his hand on the Doctor’s arm, and then jerked it away, and tried to blow off the floury print of his fingers. “Come!” He beckoned. “Come; I show you somedting putiful. Toctor, I vizh you come!”
The Doctor yielded. Richling had to be called upon at last to explain the hidden parts and processes.