“How far is that?” I asked, looking for some excuse to get decently out of the shop.
“Seven miles,” she said, “but here is Franz and the post-wagon. Franz, you will be glad to give the gentleman a seat beside you.”
The sheepish-looking youth muttered something which I took to be assent, and finished off a glass of beer. From his eyes and manner he looked as if he were half drunk.
I thanked the woman, and went out to the car, for I was in a fever to take advantage of this unexpected bit of luck. I could hear the post-mistress enjoining Franz not to keep the gentleman waiting, and presently he came out and flopped into the driver’s seat. We started in a series of voluptuous curves, till his eyes got accustomed to the darkness.
At first we made good going along the straight, broad highway lined with woods on one side and on the other snowy fields melting into haze. Then he began to talk, and, as he talked, he slowed down. This by no means suited my book, and I seriously wondered whether I should pitch him out and take charge of the thing. He was obviously a weakling, left behind in the conscription, and I could have done it with one hand. But by a fortunate chance I left him alone.
“That is a fine hat of yours, mein Herr,” he said. He took off his own blue peaked cap, the uniform, I suppose, of the driver of the post-wagon, and laid it on his knee. The night air ruffled a shock of tow-coloured hair.
Then he calmly took my hat and clapped it on his head.
“With this thing I should be a gentleman,” he said.
I said nothing, but put on his cap and waited.
“That is a noble overcoat, mein Herr,” he went on. “It goes well with the hat. It is the kind of garment I have always desired to own. In two days it will be the holy Christmas, when gifts are given. Would that the good God sent me such a coat as yours!”