"See here, Krakow," I said, "look out. I heard every word just now."
"What did you hear, what did you hear?"
"The epithets you bestowed on me--dirty blackguard and heaven knows what else."
"Oh that," he said, without a twitch of his lids. "I tell my wife every day that the doors are no good. But, my dear sir, you mustn't mind what I said. I always have been angry that you stood by Pütz. And I tell you, sir, my womenfolk mix just as good punches as he. If you had come to us--Iolanthe!--Iolanthe's my daughter. Iolanthe!! The comfort of my soul! Doesn't hear, doesn't hear. Didn't I just say the doors are no good? But both those women are at the keyhole now! Will you get away from there, you hussies? Do you hear their skirts rustling? They're running away. Ha--ha! Those women!"
Gentlemen, who could take offence? I couldn't. Perhaps I'm too thick--skinned? But I couldn't.
What did he look like?
The creature didn't reach much above my waist-line. Round, fat, bow-legged. But that absurd body of his was topped by a regular apostle's head, either St. Peter's or perhaps St. Andrew's, or somebody's of the sort. A fine, round, broad beard, with a band of white running down from each corner of his mouth, yellow parchment skin, thick crows' feet at the corners of his eyes, the top of his head bald, but two huge grey bushes over his ears.
The fellow danced about me like wild.
Don't for a moment suppose, gentlemen, that I was taken in by his goings-on. I had known him long enough. I saw through and through him. But--call me a simpleton if you will--I couldn't help it--I liked him. And I liked his surroundings.
There was a little corner at the window with carved oak cabinets all around--the window overgrown with ivy--very cosy. The sun shone in bright and clear as in an arbour, and on the table in an ivory bowl was a ball of worsted, and a copy of Daheim,and a piece of nibbled cake.