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The vagrants tramped along the highway, one after another, without troubling themselves about the dying ropedancer. "Everybody finds it hard enough to bear his own cross," said Jungel, seizing his long crutches. Only "Dancing Gundel" lingered in Miltenberg through sympathy in the fate of the companion who had reached the height of fame, while she, the former "Phyllis," had gone swiftly downhill.
The woman beckoned to their travelling companions a lame fellow of middle age who, propped on crutches, leaned against the wall, an older pock-marked man with a bloated face, and the sickly girl calling to them in the harsh, metallic voice peculiar to hawkers and elderly singers at fairs. "Help Cyriax hide. You first, Jungel! They needn't recognise him as soon as they get in.
Had it not been for the yellow blaze of the pitchpans fastened to the wall with iron clamps, which had already been burning an hour, she could scarcely have succeeded. "Make room there," the waiter called to the vagrants, giving the sleeping Jungel a push with his club foot.
The vagrants tramped along the highway, one after another, without troubling themselves about the dying ropedancer. "Everybody finds it hard enough to bear his own cross," said Jungel, seizing his long crutches. Only "Dancing Gundel" lingered in Miltenberg through sympathy in the fate of the companion who had reached the height of fame, while she, the former "Phyllis," had gone swiftly downhill.
The woman beckoned to their travelling companions a lame fellow of middle age who, propped on crutches, leaned against the wall, an older pock-marked man with a bloated face, and the sickly girl calling to them in the harsh, metallic voice peculiar to hawkers and elderly singers at fairs. "Help Cyriax hide. You first, Jungel! They needn't recognise him as soon as they get in.
Had it not been for the yellow blaze of the pitchpans fastened to the wall with iron clamps, which had already been burning an hour, she could scarcely have succeeded. "Make room there," the waiter called to the vagrants, giving the sleeping Jungel a push with his club foot.
Had it not been for the yellow blaze of the pitchpans fastened to the wall with iron clamps, which had already been burning an hour, she could scarcely have succeeded. "Make room there," the waiter called to the vagrants, giving the sleeping Jungel a push with his club foot.
The vagrants tramped along the highway, one after another, without troubling themselves about the dying ropedancer. "Everybody finds it hard enough to bear his own cross," said Jungel, seizing his long crutches. Only "Dancing Gundel" lingered in Miltenberg through sympathy in the fate of the companion who had reached the height of fame, while she, the former "Phyllis," had gone swiftly downhill.
"I've just heard of that from another quarter," he interrupted. "What I want to know is whether she pleased the eyes of men." "What's that to you?" interposed red-haired Gitta jealously, trying to draw him away from Gundel by the chain. Raban laughed heartily, and lame Jungel, chuckling, rapped on the floor with his right crutch, exclaiming: "Good for you!"
"I've just heard of that from another quarter," he interrupted. "What I want to know is whether she pleased the eyes of men." "What's that to you?" interposed red-haired Gitta jealously, trying to draw him away from Gundel by the chain. Raban laughed heartily, and lame Jungel, chuckling, rapped on the floor with his right crutch, exclaiming: "Good for you!"
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