“I yoost come in fun mine paykery undt comin’ into mine howse, fen—I see someting”—he waved his hand downward again—“someting—layin’ on te—floor—face pleck ans a nigger’s; undt fen I look to see who udt iss,—udt is Mississ Reisen! Toctor, I vish you come right off! I couldn’t shtayndt udt you toandt come right avay!”
“I’ll come,” said the Doctor, without rising; “just write your name and address on that little white slate yonder.”
“Toctor,” said the German, extending and dipping his hat, “I’m ferra much a-velcome to you, Toctor; undt tat’s yoost fot te pottekerra by mine corner sayt you vould too. He sayss, ‘Reisen,’ he sayss, ‘you yoost co to Toctor Tsewier.’” He bent his great body over the farther end of the table and slowly worked out his name, street, and number. “Dtere udt iss, Toctor; I put udt town on teh schlate; ovver, I hope you ugscooce te hayndtwriding.”
“Very well. That’s right. That’s all.”
The German lingered. The Doctor gave a bow of dismission.
“That’s all, I say. I’ll be there in a moment. That’s all. Dan, order my carriage!”
“Yentlemen, you vill ugscooce me?”
The German withdrew, returning each gentleman’s bow with a faint wave of the hat.
During this interview the more polished stranger had sat with bowed head, motionless and silent, lifting it only once and for a moment at the German’s emotional outburst. Then the upward and backward turned face was marked with a commiseration partly artificial, but also partly natural. He now looked up at the Doctor.
“I shall have to leave you,” said the Doctor.