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As he went out, Ersten and Kurzerhosen and Schoppenvoll, in blissful forgetfulness of him, raised their glasses for the first delicious sip of the Rheinthranen, of which there were only two hundred and eighty precious bottles left in the world. Outside, Johnny hailed a passing taxi. He called on Morton Washer, on Ben Courtney, on Colonel Bouncer, and even on Candy-King Slosher; but to no purpose.
Ersten took his apron and the tape and threw them on a table with a slam. "I invite you to have a glass of Rheinthranen," he offered. "Thanks," returned Johnny carelessly, not quite appreciating the priceless honor. "I'll have Mr. Schnitt here in an hour, but you must be careful what you say to him. He is stubborn." "Sure, I know it," impetuously agreed Ersten. "He is an old assel.
"I doubt it," he rejoined. "Ersten has just lost the coat cutter who helped him build up his business, and he's soured on everything in the world but Schoppenvoll's and skat and Rheinthranen." "Could I learn to play skat in about a day?" inquired Johnny. "You have no German ancestors, have you?" retorted Close. "No." "Then you couldn't learn it in a thousand years!"
Ersten said. "The Rheinthranen!" repeated Heinrich in awe; and for the first time his eyes moistened. "Louis, we was always friends!" And they shook hands.
"Na, na, na!" he shrilly commented. "Here it is wrong!" And, grabbing up a slice of chalk, he made a deft swoop toward the material. Suddenly his arm stayed in mid air and he laid down the chalk with a muscular effort. "I think I take this home," he firmly announced. "Heinrich, you come back after the work. Just now we go with Mr. Gamble to Schoppenvoll's and have a glass of Rheinthranen!"
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