The Fortune Hunter [14]
straight. ``Don't f'rget, y'owe me ten dollarses--no, two ten dollarses.''
``Oh, sit down,'' coaxed Feuerstein, taking him by the arm. ``It's early yet.''
Dippel shook him off with much dignity. ``Don' touch me!'' he growled. ``I know what I'm 'bout. I'm goin' home.'' Then to himself, but aloud: ``Dippy, you're too full f'r utterance--you mus' shake this beat.'' Again to Feuerstein:
``G'night, Mr. Funkelshine--g'night. Sit there till I'm gone.''
Feuerstein rose to follow and Dippel struck at him. The waiter seized each by the shoulder and flung them through the swinging doors. Dippel fell in a heap on the sidewalk, but Feuerstein succeeded in keeping to his feet. He went to the assistance of Dippel.
``Don't touch me,'' shouted Dippel.
``Police! Police!''
Feuerstein looked fearfully round, gave Dippel a kick and hurried away. When he glanced back from a safe distance Dippel was waving to and fro on his wobbling legs, talking to a cabman.
``Close-fisted devil,'' muttered Feuerstein. ``He couldn't forget his money even when he was drunk. What good is money to a brute like him?'' And he gave a sniff of contempt for the vulgarity and meanness of Dippel and his kind.
Early the next morning he established a modus vivendi with his landlady by giving her ten dollars on account. He had an elaborate breakfast at Terrace Garden and went to Bloomingdale's, arriving at eleven precisely. Lena Ganser was already there, pretending to shop at a counter in full view of the appointed place. They went to Terrace Garden and sat in the Stube. He at once opened up his sudden romantic passion. ``All night I have walked the streets,'' he said, ``dreaming of you.'' When he had fully informed her of the state of his love-maddened mind toward her, he went on to his most congenial topic--himself.
``You have heard of the Freiherr von Feuerstein, the great soldier?'' he asked her.
Lena had never heard of him. But she did not know who was German Emperor or even who was President of the United States. She, therefore, had to be extremely cautious. She nodded assent.
``My uncle,'' said Feuerstein impressively. His eyes became reflective. ``Strange!'' he exclaimed in tender accents, soliloquizing-- ``strange where romance will lead us. Instead of remaining at home, in ease and luxury, here am I--an actor--a wanderer --roaming the earth in search of the heart that Heaven intended should be wedded to mine.'' He fixed his gaze upon Lena's fat face with the expression that had made Hilda's soul fall down and worship. ``And--I have found it!'' He drew in and expelled a vast breath. ``At last! My soul is at rest.''
Lena tried to look serious in imitation of him, but that was not her way of expressing emotion. She made a brief struggle, then collapsed into her own mode--a vain, delighted, giggling laugh.
``Why do you smile?'' he asked sternly. He revolted from this discord to his symphony.
She sobered with a frightened, deprecating look. ``Don't mind me,'' she pleaded. ``Pa says I'm a fool. I was laughing because I'm happy. You're such a sweet, romantic dream of a man.''
Feuerstein was not particular either as to the quality or as to the source of his vanity-food. He accepted Lena's offering with a condescending nod and smile. They talked, or, rather, he talked and she listened and giggled until lunch time. As the room began to fill, they left and he walked home with her.
``You can come in,'' she said. ``Pa won't be home to lunch to-day and ma lets me do as I please.''
The Gansers lived in East Eighty-first Street, in the regulation twenty-five-foot brownstone house. And within, also, it was of a familiar New York type. It was the home of the rich, vain ignoramus who has not taste enough to know that those to whom he has trusted for taste have shockingly betrayed him. Ganser had begun as a teamster for a brewery and had grown rapidly rich late in life. He happened to be elected president of a big Verein and so had got the notion that he was a person of importance
``Oh, sit down,'' coaxed Feuerstein, taking him by the arm. ``It's early yet.''
Dippel shook him off with much dignity. ``Don' touch me!'' he growled. ``I know what I'm 'bout. I'm goin' home.'' Then to himself, but aloud: ``Dippy, you're too full f'r utterance--you mus' shake this beat.'' Again to Feuerstein:
``G'night, Mr. Funkelshine--g'night. Sit there till I'm gone.''
Feuerstein rose to follow and Dippel struck at him. The waiter seized each by the shoulder and flung them through the swinging doors. Dippel fell in a heap on the sidewalk, but Feuerstein succeeded in keeping to his feet. He went to the assistance of Dippel.
``Don't touch me,'' shouted Dippel.
``Police! Police!''
Feuerstein looked fearfully round, gave Dippel a kick and hurried away. When he glanced back from a safe distance Dippel was waving to and fro on his wobbling legs, talking to a cabman.
``Close-fisted devil,'' muttered Feuerstein. ``He couldn't forget his money even when he was drunk. What good is money to a brute like him?'' And he gave a sniff of contempt for the vulgarity and meanness of Dippel and his kind.
Early the next morning he established a modus vivendi with his landlady by giving her ten dollars on account. He had an elaborate breakfast at Terrace Garden and went to Bloomingdale's, arriving at eleven precisely. Lena Ganser was already there, pretending to shop at a counter in full view of the appointed place. They went to Terrace Garden and sat in the Stube. He at once opened up his sudden romantic passion. ``All night I have walked the streets,'' he said, ``dreaming of you.'' When he had fully informed her of the state of his love-maddened mind toward her, he went on to his most congenial topic--himself.
``You have heard of the Freiherr von Feuerstein, the great soldier?'' he asked her.
Lena had never heard of him. But she did not know who was German Emperor or even who was President of the United States. She, therefore, had to be extremely cautious. She nodded assent.
``My uncle,'' said Feuerstein impressively. His eyes became reflective. ``Strange!'' he exclaimed in tender accents, soliloquizing-- ``strange where romance will lead us. Instead of remaining at home, in ease and luxury, here am I--an actor--a wanderer --roaming the earth in search of the heart that Heaven intended should be wedded to mine.'' He fixed his gaze upon Lena's fat face with the expression that had made Hilda's soul fall down and worship. ``And--I have found it!'' He drew in and expelled a vast breath. ``At last! My soul is at rest.''
Lena tried to look serious in imitation of him, but that was not her way of expressing emotion. She made a brief struggle, then collapsed into her own mode--a vain, delighted, giggling laugh.
``Why do you smile?'' he asked sternly. He revolted from this discord to his symphony.
She sobered with a frightened, deprecating look. ``Don't mind me,'' she pleaded. ``Pa says I'm a fool. I was laughing because I'm happy. You're such a sweet, romantic dream of a man.''
Feuerstein was not particular either as to the quality or as to the source of his vanity-food. He accepted Lena's offering with a condescending nod and smile. They talked, or, rather, he talked and she listened and giggled until lunch time. As the room began to fill, they left and he walked home with her.
``You can come in,'' she said. ``Pa won't be home to lunch to-day and ma lets me do as I please.''
The Gansers lived in East Eighty-first Street, in the regulation twenty-five-foot brownstone house. And within, also, it was of a familiar New York type. It was the home of the rich, vain ignoramus who has not taste enough to know that those to whom he has trusted for taste have shockingly betrayed him. Ganser had begun as a teamster for a brewery and had grown rapidly rich late in life. He happened to be elected president of a big Verein and so had got the notion that he was a person of importance