"And that reminds me," he continued, "that I have had nothing to eat since I left Hamburg. What does it mean? It isn't the way prodigal sons are generally treated. Shall I still have to go hunting for my meat in the saddle now I am in Europe?"
And then he roared through the hollow of his hand. "Landlord! waiter! scullion!" till the walls shook from the echoes of his voice.
The landlord, greasy and smiling, with two old-fashioned Prussian ringlets over his ears, appeared in the doorway. He expressed himself respectfully overjoyed to find that the Herr Baron had not lost his healthy voice in foreign countries. That was a sign the rest was in good condition.
"In such good condition, my friend," replied Leo, "that if you venture again to criticise my voice, you will find yourself being chucked out of one of your own windows."
The landlord, in alarm, begged pardon, and, promising to send up the best contents of his larder, retired with a servile bow.
"To tell you the truth, old fellow," Leo said, turning to his friend, "I don't like your looks. You lay there like one crucified."
Ulrich Kletzingk clenched his teeth, and raised himself into an erect position.
"Thank you," he said, "I am quite revived now."
"What about the heart? How are the attacks now? Who, I should like to know, has been rubbing your head for you all this time when the little white mice swarm?"
Ulrich smiled, as we smile at children's talk which does our heart good to hear.