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"Wie gehts," is the demure reply from them, both at once; but not the shadow of a dimple responds to my unhappy attempt to win from them a smile. Pretty but not coquettish are these communistic maidens of Amana.
Such extraordinarily huge reddish hands as might have grasped six seidels together in the Deutsche Kuechen on 13th street. I gasped with pleasurable relief. This solemnity, however, met its Waterloo in his frank and stupid eyes, not to say his trilogy of cheerful chins so much so that I felt like crying "Wie gehts!" and cracking him on his huge back. Such an animal!
When Jewett had been at Springdale some six or eight months, another young man dropped from the local one morning, and said, "Wie gehts," and handed him a letter. The letter was from the Superintendent, calling him back to Bloomington to despatch trains. Being the youngest of the despatchers, he had to take the "death trick."
No wonder, then, that the old Landsturm guards, used at home to saying "Wie gehts?" and getting a cheery answer from the people they passed in the streets, were lonely. Not only stubborn, but shrewd, these Belgians. Both qualities were brought out in the officials who had to deal with the Germans, particularly in the small towns and where destruction had been worst.
Children are hardly out of the cradle before they are arrested for butting into the speed limit with a smoke wagon. Even when they go courting they have to play to the gallery. Nowadays Gonsalvo H. Puffenlotz walks into the parlor to see Miss Imogene Cordelia Hoffbrew. "Wie gehts, Imogene!" says Gonsalvo.
The people, the buildings, the language, the food, everything, is precisely as if it had been picked up bodily in some rural district in Germany, and set down unaltered here in Iowa. "Wie gehts," I venture, as I wheel past a couple of plump, rosy-cheeked maidens, in the quaint, old-fashioned garb of the German peasantry.
Men of every age and nationality were eating, drinking, smoking and talking. Some of them knew Herr Gottfried, some did not. "Wie gehts, Gottfried?"
However, as I've said, I'm not familiar with the language, and Hermann's soft, round-eyed countenance remained unchanged. Staring stolidly ahead he greeted him with, "Wie gehts," or in English, "How are you?" with a throaty enunciation. The girl would look up for an instant and move her lips slightly: Mrs.
"Glad to see you, mine vriend," said the German, addressing Ferguson. "No, that is Mr. Ferguson," said Miles, smiling. "I should have introduced him first." "Wie gehts, Herr Ferguson?" said the grocer. "You have one strange name." "Your name seems strange to me," said the Scotchman. "Oh, no; Schinkelwitz is a very common name. Most peoples admire my name."
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