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Joplin played with his knife and made an attempt to nibble a slice of Tine's toast, but he made no reply. All the fight of every kind seemed to have been knocked out of him. "Better take Fizzenbad in, Joppy," remarked Pudfut in an undertone. "May do you a lot of good." "How far is it, Schonholz?" asked Joplin, ignoring the Englishman's suggestion.
"Oh, you leafe in de morgen and you come by Fizzenbad in a day more as do one you go oud mid." "No can't afford it." Here Joplin pushed back his chair, and with the remark that he thought he would go downtown for some colors, left the room. "It's working like a dose of salts," cried Pudfut when the Bostonian was out of hearing. "Hasn't said 'epigastric nerve, 'gram' or 'proteids' once.
No, Marny, you don't can lend me noddings. What vill yourselluf do? Starve!" "Where do you live, Schonholz?" asked Joplin. "By Fizzenbad." "What kind of a place is it baths?" "Yes." "What are they good for?" continued Joplin in a subdued tone. "Noddings, but blenty peoples go." "I can tell you, Joppy," said Pudfut gravely, with a wink at Malone. "There are two spas, both highly celebrated.
Then he beckoned to Marny and read the contents aloud, the others crowding close: Dear Stebbins: Keep my things until I send for them. I take the night train for Rotterdam. Tell Schonholz I'll join him there and go on with him to Fizzenbad. Sorry to leave this way, but I could not bear to bid you all good-by. Joplin. That night the table was one prolonged uproar.
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