“Don’t you feel a vast deal better,” he said, “after this good deed?”
“Not a bit of it,” said his Highness; “first the storm must be over.”
The sky was clearing. Rand’s head appeared again. “Now it’s all over; the baker’s wife says we had seven storms.”
His Highness took breath once more, and said to himself, “Seven storms! And he knew it before, the insolent old fellow, with his confounded speeches! What becomes of the deference due to the prince from his subject, I’d like to know? But I can’t do without him; he’s too well posted about the weather.”
Fritz Reuter.
THE LIEUTENANT’S DINNER.
COMING home to his bachelor quarters one day, Lieutenant Karfunkelstein found a note of invitation upon his library table. As he took it up and examined it, his chagrin was almost too great for his dignified self-possession. Frau von Diamant was known all over the town for her good dinners, and he, poor fellow, had orders to march in an hour. Moreover, to aggravate matters, the widow was the lady of his heart. He would have liked nothing better than to spend an hour or two in her company, and have the added gratification of dining most sumptuously. But there was no help for it. Love and hunger must both be set aside as a malignant fate had decreed. He must march, and no amount of railing at destiny would improve matters, however it might ease his much-enduring temper. So he called his man Joching, and entrusted to him his painful message of regrets to the widow. “And Joching, are you sure you understand?” “To be sure I do, sir!” replied good Joching dutifully, departing therewith on his errand. It occurred to the lieutenant then that before his march he might partake of a meal to be sent from his hotel. Opening the window hastily, he called after the departing Joching, “When you come back bring my dinner with you.”
And Joching reached the lady’s house. “Well, Joching, what have you to tell me?” “Best compliments from my master to your gracious ladyship. And as for the Herr Lieutenant, he cannot come to dine to-day, for in little more than an hour the troop must march to Woldegk.”
“Ah, what a shame. I’m sorely grieved!”
And Joching still did not move from the spot; he stood twisting his cap and wringing it between his knuckles. The lady asks him why he does not go. “The dinner,” says he; “I was to take it with me.” Well, she was a right jolly woman who did not take a joke amiss, and quickly said, “Stay, in a minute you shall have it.” And in less time than it takes to tell it, she had a portly basket filled and placed on Joching Pacsel’s arm. He trotted off therewith, nothing loath. The Herr Lieutenant was waiting for him, and sat down with a surly look. “Well,” he said, “now for it. The everlasting pork and mutton, I suppose. Ah, to be invited to dine most exquisitely with a superb woman, and then to be condemned to eat hotel stuff!” But soon his humour took another turn. The dinner truly was not bad, what with meats and pastry, ices and dainties, not to mention a bottle of champagne. It was a dinner fit for any man, and most especially for a man about to march and meet pale Death. With vain surmises did he try to solve the riddle of this unlooked-for excellence, and turning to his servant, asked if there were a wedding or a christening at his wonted eating-house. “Nay,” says good Joching, “that’s from her.” “Where did you say you got it?” asked the Herr Lieutenant. “I got it from Frau von Diamant, sir, as you bade me do.” It was worth something to hear the Herr Lieutenant then; to hear him rave and tear, and swear that honest Joching was the greatest ass that ever walked upon two legs. As time goes on, however, even a lieutenant’s rage blows over, and he, being quite cooled down by this time, drew his purse, and taking three thalers therefrom, spoke thus to Joching, “Here are three thalers; do you see them, lout? Take the money and go at once to the nearest pastry-cook’s. Do you understand me, fool?” “Yes, Herr Lieutenant,” said honest Joching. “And there you buy a tart, the finest that the shop holds, and then you go and take it to the house where I was asked to dine. Tell Madam Diamant that you are noted for a fool, and would she kindly overlook your error; and if the tart but taste one-half as good to her as did her roast and confects to me, ’twill give me pleasure more than I can tell. Now, do you understand it, stupid fellow?”