Downstairs the holiday coffee was waiting and Auntie Schlotterbeck sat at the table. She had left her shoes upstairs by her bedroom door so as not to wake the student and Mrs. Christine, and their consideration of one another gave rise to much laughter. There was a piece of jubilee cake too and although Maundy Thursday is only a half holiday, as every toiler knows, it was settled that it was to be kept as a whole one.
First, of course, they went to church after Hans had knocked again vainly at the junk-dealer's door. Since old Samuel had taken the body-servant of King Jerome from his hook and thus removed him forever from what to him in truth had been the swirl and swing of life, the door had not been opened again. What was going on behind it was a riddle to Kröppel Street, but a still greater riddle to Hans who had not seen his friend since they had walked home together after the examination and who had returned unsuccessful from every attempt to penetrate into the house opposite. Murx, the retired town constable, who still kept watch on Kröppel Street, from his armchair, in helpless fury and goutier than ever, had already drawn the attention of his successor in office to the "confoundedly suspicious case;" indeed, the burgomaster had already shaken his head over it. The silent house began to disturb the peace of the town more than the most drunken brawler could have done.
But the bells called people to church, and along came Uncle Grünebaum, in his blue coat, sea-green breeches and striped waistcoat, armed with the mightiest of all hymnbooks as a shield against all bitter and sweet temptations, an ornament to every street through which he marched, an adornment to every gathering of Christians, politicians and civilized men that he honored with his presence.
Hans and his mother walked hand in hand and at Auntie Schlotterbeck's side strode Uncle Grünebaum, who lost a little of his self-conscious respectability only when he turned the corner where the day before he had—where his feelings had overwhelmed him the day before. He drew out a very red handkerchief, blew his nose violently and thus passed successfully by the disastrous spot and landed his dignity without damage in the family pew. It is a pity that we cannot devote a chapter to his singing; no cobbler ever caroled with greater reverence and power through his nose.
Hans did not understand much of the sermon on that day and although it was rather long it seemed to him very short. Even the stone skeleton on the old monument beside the Unwirrsches' place in church, that monster which Hans, long after he had ceased to be a child, could never dissociate from the idea of church, grinned "Summa cum laude!" "Summa cum laude!" sang all the pipes of the organ and it was to this accompaniment that the family left the house of God. Above all there was "Summa cum laude!" in Professor Fackler's smile, who had also been at church with Cornelia and Eugenia, and who did not think it beneath his dignity to walk part of the way with his favorite's relatives, thus being enabled to offer Uncle Grünebaum the congratulations he had had ready the day before.
"Summa cum laude!" seemed to shine in the faces of everyone they met; it was really very curious.
Professor Fackler had taken his leave with good wishes and hand-shakings and Eugenia and Cornelia had returned dainty little courtesies to the shy and blushing student's awkward bow;—there was Kröppel Street again and its inhabitants had already taken off their Sunday raiment and put on their workday clothes.
They were not working however; there was great excitement in Kröppel Street; old and young ran hither and thither shouting and gesticulating.
"Hullo, what's the matter now?" exclaimed Uncle Grünebaum. "What's happened? What's the matter, Master Schwenckkettel?"
"He's got it! It's got him!" was the answer.