“What, you are an inventor?”
“Ches, an inventor at large—(undt schmall)——” declared young Dill, throwing out his chest proudly.
“You must make a great deal of money.”
“Oh, enough to lif py meinself—enough for dot! I don’d vant for nuddings. Der best in clothes or foodt is none too goodt for me,” and the German swelled with pride. He did not notice the glitter that had come into the eyes of the cadaverous man at the mention of money. He eyed young Dill cunningly and then asked:
“A guest of this hotel, sir?”
“Ches, I stop here. Idt iss nodt a badt blace but der pickles iss no good,” said young Dill loftily, as if he had been used to hotels all his life.
The cadaverous man leaned over toward the German youth confidentially.
“If you carry large sums with you I need not warn you of the danger of thieves.”
“Oh, no, I am careful midt mein money,” young Dill assured his new-found friend, “I alvays schleep midt idt in der toe of vun of mein shoes,”
“Ah, indeed. May I ask why?”