"No," insisted Mary. "I don't care about nothing. I have a headache all the time. I have one now."
Celeste jumped lightly to the floor: it was as if to uncoil her feet and to reach the door required but a single movement.
"Un moment!" she laughed. "I shall feex the mal de tête immediate!"
There was no time for remonstrance; the door closed upon her concluding word, and Mary was left there gazing into the stolid, sphinxlike face of the placidly smiling German. It was not a bad face, and soon Mary realized that it was a contented one.
Fritzie was returning her look with an equal curiosity.
"Are you vorried?" she finally inquired.
"No," lied Mary proudly.
"I dought you looked like vorried," the German continued. "Bud you should be nod. Dis iss a goot place. Dere are loads vorse blaces in New York dan dis: I know 'em."
She paused, but Mary's lips remained closed, her eyes fixed.
"You bed I know 'um!" Fritzie repeated. "Bud dis blace—vhy, ve haf de best meals, so goot nobody gould besser haf! I like dis blace."