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Ganser blinked and looked helplessly at Lena. "I'm married, ma," explained Lena. "It's Mr. Feuerstein." And she gave her silly laugh. Mrs. Ganser grew slowly pale. "Your father," she at last succeeded in articulating. "Ach!" She lifted her arm, thick as a piano leg, and resumed the study of her new bonnet. "Won't you welcome me, mother?" asked Feuerstein, his tone and attitude dignified appeal.
You're a frightful fakir and liar, Feuerstein. You were, seven years ago; of course, the habit's grown on you. Speak out! What do you want? As your lawyer, I must know things exactly as they are." "I ran away with a girl the daughter of the brewer, Peter Ganser," said Feuerstein, sullen but terse. "And her father wouldn't receive me shut her up put me out." "And you want your wife?"
"The door with Mr. Loeb's name on it. Knock and walk right in." Feuerstein followed the directions and found himself in a dingy little room, smelling of mustiness and stale tobacco, and lined with law books, almost all on crime and divorce. Loeb, Lynn, Levy and McCafferty were lawyers to the lower grades of the criminal and shady only.
She went out into the shop. While he was still trying to lay hold of an end of the spinning tangle of his thoughts and draw it forth in the hope that all would follow, she returned, fright in her eyes. She clasped her hands nervously and her cheeks blanched. "Mr. Feuerstein!" she exclaimed. "And he's coming here! What SHALL I do?" "What is the matter?" he asked.
"I can not delay, angel of my heart!" He gave her the look that is the theatrical convention for love beyond words. "It must be settled at once. I must know my fate. I must put destiny to the touch and know happiness or hell!" "Bah!" thought Otto. "He has to hurry matters he must be in trouble. He's got to raise the wind at once." "Mr. Feuerstein Carl!" pleaded Hilda. "PLEASE try to be practical."
Brauner was still grumbling. Mr. Feuerstein could not possibly be adjusted in his mind to his beloved ideals, his religion of life "Arbeit und Liebe und Heim." Still he was yielding and Hilda saw the signs of it. She knew he was practically won over and was secretly inclined to be proud that his daughter had made this exalted conquest.
Feuerstein go in the front door about an hour before. Hilda came out and went away. She looked so queer that I wanted to see. I ran across the street and looked in. Mr. Feuerstein was sitting there with a knife in his hand. And all at once he stood up and stabbed himself in the neck and there was blood and he fell and I ran away."
Her code of morals and her method of dealing with moral questions were those of all the people about her strict, severe, primitive. Feuerstein was a cheat, a traitor. She cast him out of her heart cast him out at once and utterly and for ever. She could think of him only with shame. And it seemed to her that she was herself no longer pure she had touched pitch; how could she be undefiled?
"But just to the door, then home again." "Now, that won't do," said Casey roughly. "You'd better tell the whole story." "Tell them all about it, Hilda," interposed her father in an agonized tone. "Don't hold back anything." "Oh father Otto it was nothing. I didn't go in. He Mr. Feuerstein came here, and he looked so sick, and he begged me to come over to Meinert's for a minute.
As he did it, he vented a drunken chuckle. "Soda fountain's gol' mine, Fishenspiel," he said thickly. "No, you don't! I can watch my own roll." He winked and chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint you, Fishy," he went on, with a leer. Then he took off another ten and handed it to Feuerstein. "Good fel', Fishy," he mumbled, "'f y' are a dead beat."
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