"I felt I ought to give more, but they told me——" I began.
"More!" exclaimed Polly. "I never heard of such a thing! Don't you know that ten pfennigs (two cents and a half) for each person is considered quite sufficient?"
Polly has lived here longer than I, and has absorbed the idea that a pfennig—a fifth of a cent—is a pfennig, and not to be lightly treated. Accordingly I laid the sum on the table. The waitress swept the money into the black leather bag which she wore about her waist just as Kathie does in Alt-Heidelberg, and expressed her thanks repeatedly as she opened the door for us to pass out.
"Bitte, verehren uns wieder!" (Please honor us again) said the proprietor from her desk.
"Adieu, meine Damen," cried the waitress at the table in the corner, while our little maid poured forth a continual sing song of "Danke sehr, meine Damen. Besten Dank! Habe die Ehre!" (I have the honor) until we were out on the street.
Polly and I looked at each other and laughed.
"Don't fancy it was the effect of the tip," said she. "They go through the same program for half the money. I always give ten pfennigs and have never missed a word."
She laughed again gaily, for she is once more quite happy inasmuch as the "poet on the floor below" has been suddenly called to Stuttgart. A drama of his has been accepted there, and he was so overcome with joy that he withdrew his complaint and told Polly she might "bang away" till he returned.
"And now come down to the Schlüssel Bazar with me," she said, tucking my hand coaxingly under her arm. "I want you to help me select a gift."
There is no more fascinating place for a Christmas shopper than the Bazar, but I glanced at the clock on the Theatiner church.