She filled the paper cone, inserted the point of it into one end of a hollow pastry horn, and gently squeezed. Presto! A cream-filled Hornchen! "Oh, Blackie!" I gasped. "Come on. I want to go in and eat." As we elbowed our way to the rear room separated from the front shop only by a flimsy wooden partition, I expected I know not what. But surely this was not Blackie's much-vaunted Baumbach's!
Whimsically, and with the memory of that last cream-filled cake fresh in my mind, I saluted the letters that spelled "Franz Baumbach." Blackie chuckled impishly. "Just the same, try a pinch of soda bicarb'nate when you get home, Dawn," he advised. "Well, I'm off to the factory again. Got t' make up for time wasted on m' lady friend. Auf wiedersehen!"