“Well sir it’s a gamblin game,” said the barkeep as he walked back to the bar swinging the two empty bottles.
“A gamblin game. He aint so far out,” said Mr.
Zucher, looking down into his beer with a glassy meditative eye. “A man vat is ambeetious must take chances. Ambeetions is vat I came here from Frankfort mit at the age of tvelf years, und now that I haf a son to vork for ... Ach, his name shall be Vilhelm after the mighty Kaiser.”
“My little girl’s name will be Ellen after my mother.” Ed Thatcher’s eyes filled with tears.
Mr. Zucher got to his feet. “Vell goodpy Mr. Thatcher. Happy to have met you. I must go home to my little girls.”
Thatcher shook the chubby hand again, and thinking warm soft thoughts of motherhood and fatherhood and birthday cakes and Christmas watched through a sepia-tinged foamy haze Mr. Zucher waddle out through the swinging doors. After a while he stretched out his arms. Well poor little Susie wouldn’t like me to be here.... Everything for her and the bonny wee bairn.
“Hey there yous how about settlin?” bawled the barkeep after him when he reached the door.
“Didnt the other feller pay?”
“Like hell he did.”
“But he was t-t-treating me....”