FullReads

“‘And what day was that?’ interrupted the Mayor.

“‘On last Wednesday.’

“‘The cobbler said it was Tuesday,’ insisted Cocked Hat. ‘On this point hangs the case. Now on which day did your Honor take the field with your dogs?’

“There was a dead silence, during which the Mayor’s eyes rested on the culprit. Fiddles returned the look, head up, a smile on his lips that would have fooled the devil himself. Then his Honor turned to me and said: ‘My memory is not always very good, but this time the cobbler’s–who is a meddlesome person–is even more defective. Yes, I think it quite possible I was hunting on last Wednesday. I can sympathize with the young man as to the size of the rabbit. They are running very small this year. My decision, therefore, is that you can let the young man go.’

“Oh, but that was a great night at the inn. Gretchen was so happy that she spilled the beer down the apothecary’s back and the landlady could talk of nothing but Fiddles’s release. But the real fun began an hour later, when shouts for the Herr Mahler, interwoven with the music of a concertina, made me step to the door. Outside, in the road, stood four young men–all pals of Fiddles, all bareheaded, and all carrying lanterns. They had come to crown the American with a gold chaplet cut from gilt paper, after which I was to be conducted to the public house where bumpers of beer were to be drunk until the last pfennig was spent.

“On hearing this, Gretchen, the landlady, the apothecary, the hostler, and the stable-boy–not the cobbler, you may be sure–burst forth with cries of: ‘Hip! Hip!–Hock! Donder und Blitzen!’ or whatever they do yell when they are mad with joy.

“Then the landlady broke out in a fresh place: ‘No public-house for you! This is my treat! All of you come inside. Gretchen, get the mugs full–all the mugs–Sit down! Sit down! The Herr Painter at the top of the table, the Herr Feudels-Shimmer on the right; all the other Herrs anywhere in between. Hock the Mahler! Hock the Hunter! Hock everybody but the cobbler!’ Here a groan went round. ‘Hock! Hip and Blather skitzen for the good and honorable Mayor, who always loves the people!’

“‘And Hock! too, for the honorable and good gendarme!’ laughed Fiddles, dropping into his chair. ‘But for him I would be in the lock-up instead of basking in the smiles of two such lovely women as the fascinating landlady and the bewitching Gretchen.’

“After that Fiddles and I became inseparable. That I hadn’t a mark over my expenses to give him in return for his services–and there was nothing he would not do for me–made no difference. He wouldn’t take any wages; all he wanted was to carry my traps, to sit by me while I worked; wake me up in the morning, be the last to wish me good night. Soon it became a settled fact that, while the landlady fed two mouths–mine and Fiddles’s–and provided two beds–Fiddles in the garret–my single board bill covered all the items. ‘That is the Herr Painter and his servant,’ she would say to inquiring strangers who watched us depart for a day’s work, Fiddles carrying my easel and traps.

“This went on for weeks–might have gone on all summer but for the events which followed a day’s outing. We had spent the morning sketching, and on our way home had stood opposite a wide-open gate–a great baronial affair with a coat of arms in twisted iron, the whole flanked by two royal lamps.

“‘Step inside, Master,’ said Fiddles. ‘It is hot, and there is a seat under that tree; there we will get cool.’

“‘It’s against the rules, Fiddles, and I don’t know these people.’

“‘Then I’ll introduce you.’

“He was half-way across the grass by this time and within reach of a wooden bench, when an old lady stepped out from behind a tree–a real old aristocrat in black silk and white ruffles. She had a book in her hand, and had evidently been reading.