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Updated: May 1, 2025
"And me," declared Jack. "Well, then I'm agreeable," Frank said quietly. "Good. Harris, in the pocket of my coat, which hangs in the pilot house, you will find a pack of cards. Bring them here." Harris walked away and returned a few seconds later with a pack of playing cards. Von Ludwig opened the box and produced the cards. "The man who cuts the lowest card shall stay behind," he said quietly.
At all events, Ludwig heard of the plans to break off his engagement, and angrily refused to listen to them, declaring that he loved Elizabeth dearly and would marry her in spite of every person and relative in his dominions.
After dinner, they went to the library to look at the late newspapers. Ludwig himself made the coffee, after which he read the papers, and dictated his comments and criticisms on certain articles to Marie, who wrote them out in her delicate hair-line chirography. When Ludwig and Marie separated for the afternoon, he touched his lips to her hand and brow.
Ludwig laughed but tried to look cross, as he said, "I'm in earnest. We must get home sometime this year." "Now, boys," cried Peter, springing up as he fastened the last buckle. "There's a clear way before us! We will imagine it's the grand race. Ready! One, two, three, start!" I assure you that very little was said for the first half hour. They were six Mercuries skimming the ice.
"Certainly; is she not my daughter? But seriously, Ludwig, Marie must not remain here if the recruiting-flag is to wave from the tower, and if the castle is to be open to every notorious bully in the county. You gentlemen may attend to your recruits here, while Marie and I, over at the manor, arrange a fitting ensign for your company.
"Rats," says Mabel. A keen observer would have noted all this time the figure of a solitary man who seemed to avoid the company but by adroit changing of his position, and perfectly cool and self-possessed manner, avoided drawing any especial attention to himself. The lion of the evening is Herr Professor Ludwig von Bum, the pianist.
We'll quote that, and then let you off for the day. Heine was living in Paris in the forties, and used to visit a curious revolutionary freak named Ludwig Borne. In the background several polar bears were crouching, who smoked and hardly ever spoke, except to growl out now and then a real fatherland 'Donnerwetter' in a deep bass voice.
Hastily unloosing his long, plaited rope from the body of the boy, and readjusting the loop, he again flings it forth; this time aiming to take in, not the head of Ludwig horse, but the pommel and cantle of his high-back saddle. And just as aimed, so the noose is seen to fall, embracing both.
Romain Rolland's "Beethoven," one of the cornerstones of his celebrity as a critic, is based upon a thesis that is of almost inconceivable inaccuracy, to wit, the thesis that old Ludwig was an apostle of joy, and that his music reveals his determination to experience and utter it in spite of all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Nothing could be more absurd.
"We'll impress our prisoners into service if it's necessary. With a man to guard them they can handle the engine room." "I am afraid it will come to that, sir," said Frank. Von Ludwig shrugged. "What will be, will be," he replied quietly.
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