He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted Gluck’s heart. “They promised me one slice to-day, sir,” said he; “I can give you that, but not a bit more.”
“That’s a good boy,” said the old gentleman, again.
Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife. “I don’t care if I do get beaten for it,” thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out of the mutton there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old gentleman jumped off the hob, as if it had suddenly become inconveniently warm. Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again, and ran to open the door.
“What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?” said Schwartz, as he walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck’s face. “Ay! what for indeed, you little vagabond?” said Hans, administering a blow on the ear as he followed his brother into the kitchen.
“Bless my soul!” said Schwartz, when he opened the door.
“Amen!” said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off, and was standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possible swiftness.
“Who’s that?” said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin, and turning to Gluck with a fierce frown.
“I don’t know, indeed, brother,” said Gluck, in great terror.
“How did he get in?” roared Schwartz.
“My dear brother,” said Gluck, “he was so very wet!”