"You'd find you would stay longer than you wanted to if you did that," I said. "What do you suppose they are all waiting for?"
Jimmie called the redolent maiden, and in German which made her quiver put the question.
"At five o'clock they will open a fresh hogshead of beer—the Lowenbrau," she answered him.
"Fresh beer?" cried Jimmie. "How long has this been opened?"
"Since three."
"Great Scott!" whispered Jimmie. "Think of me brought up on a bottle, coming to a land where men will sit for an hour to get beer the first five minutes it is opened."
"See, they are opening it now," said the maid.
Sure enough, every man in the garden slowly rose and ambled leisurely to a horse-trough in the centre of the garden in which lay perhaps a score of mugs in running water. Each took a stein or two or three, depending on his party, and formed in line in front of the counter across which the beer was passed.
"Come, Jimmie," I said. "I'm going to get my own stein."
"Why do they do that?" asked Mrs. Jimmie, after we had got in line.