“Vail,” observed Mr. Blum, “to drink dot beer, and hear dot music, and breathe dot fresh air, dot's what I call solid comfort—hey?”
“Yes; and to see the people,” added Mr. Koch. “I don't know as there's any thing that I enjoy better than I do to sit around here of a summer night, and watch the people—see them arrive in squads, and then notice their ways of enjoying themselves after they've got settled. It's quite a study; and every now and then you catch a glimpse into a regular romance. Now, Mr. Bacharach, you just take in that table over there. Can't you imagine how that young fellow's heart is thumping, as he whispers to her in that energetic manner? And see how she blushes, and fidgets with her fan, and pretends not to like it. And the old folks, her father and mother, of course—they sit placidly, with their backs turned, and have no attention for any thing but the beer and the music. I got a great mind to go up and nudge them. I have, as I'm alive.”
“Don't you do nothing of the kind!” cried Mrs. Koch, indignantly. “The idea! How you like it if some busy-body come up, and nudge my papa, when you was making loaf to me?”
“Well, now, what I admire about that couple,” pursued Mr. Koch, “is their clever acting. They're trying hard not to give themselves away, and not to let people see how sweet they feel. Unless a fellow watched them mighty close, and had been there himself, he might really be deceived by them, and think they were talking about nothing more interesting than the weather. But you and me, Mr. Bacharach, we're shrewd, and we know better. She's a daisy, and no mistake, ain't she? And the young man—he looks like a respectable sort of a chap, too. Well, I guess I won't interfere. I guess I'll do as you say, Sarah. It may be a desirable match. What's your advice, mother-inlaw?”
Mrs. Blum, quivering like a mass of jelly with suppressed mirth, responded, “Ach, Gott! Go 'vay! You make me die!”
Mr. Blum, his face wreathed in smiles, exclaimed, “Washington, you got more wit about you than any man I know. It's simply wonderful.”
It seemed as though the Kochs knew every body that came. At all events, every body that passed their table stopped, and said how-d'ye-do, shaking hands, and addressing Mr. Koch as Wash. His usual rejoinder was: “First-class. How's yourself?”
“I'm sorry your daughter wasn't able to be here, Mrs. Morgenthau,” Elias said.
“Oh, my daughter,” Mrs. Morgenthau returned, “she works like a horse. You never saw such a worker. It's simply fearful. And such a good girl, Mr. Bacharach. Only nineteen years old, and earns more than a hundred dollars a month, and supports me and herself. Her uncle, my brother over there, he's as generous with his money as if it was water; and he gave Tillie a magnificent education. But she's bound to be self-supporting, and hasn't cost him a cent for nearly a year. Of course, he gives her elegant presents every once in awhile; but she pays our expenses by her own work. She's grand. She's an angel.”
“You're right there,” putin Mr. Koch. “Tillie's all wool, from head to foot.”