“All right anything suits me.”
“Two pottles Culmbacher imported to drink to our little folk.” The bottles popped and the sepia-tinged foam rose in the glasses. “Here’s success.... Prosit,” said the German, and raised his glass. He rubbed the foam out of his mustache and pounded on the table with a pink fist. “Vould it be indiscreet meester...?”
“Thatcher’s my name.”
“Vould it be indiscreet, Mr. Thatcher, to inquvire vat might your profession be?”
“Accountant. I hope before long to be a certified accountant.”
“I am a printer and my name is Zucher—Marcus Antonius Zucher.”
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Zucher.”
They shook hands across the table between the bottles.
“A certified accountant makes big money,” said Mr. Zucher.
“Big money’s what I’ll have to have, for my little girl.”