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Updated: May 8, 2025
And Carl, in the characteristic way he had, set out to fill our lives with all the real German life we could get into them, not waiting for that life to come of itself which it might never have done. One afternoon, on his way home from the University, he discovered in a back alley the Weiser Boch, a little restaurant and beer-hall so full of local color that it "hollered."
No, it did not holler: it was too real for that. It was sombre and carved up it whispered. Carl made immediate friends, in the way he had, with the portly Frau and Herr who ran the Weiser Boch: they desired to meet me, they desired to see the Kinder, and would not the Herr Student like to have the Weiser Boch lady mention his name to some of the German students who dropped in?
Carl left his card, and wondered if anything would come of it. The very next afternoon, such a glowing account of the Amerikaner the Weiser Boch lady must have given, a real truly German student, in his corps cap and ribbons, called at our home the stiffest, most decorous heel-clicking German student I ever was to see.
They wrote in large letters on tombstones, "Boch no bon," and other illiterate comments unflattering to the dead usurpers; all of which, our old man explained, mightily endeared the Atkinses to the returning inhabitants of Nesle. "Those brave Tommies are gone now," he sighed, "but they left their dead in our care. You see those flowers on their graves?
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