It was here, then, that I had arranged to give my little dinner. The
orchestra had agreed--for a liberal tip--to play _The Star-Spangled
Banner_, and there was a case of Doppelkinn's sparkling Moselle. I may
as well state right here that we neither heard our national anthem nor
drank the vintage. You will soon learn why. I can laugh now, I can
treat the whole affair with becoming levity, but at the time I gained
several extra grey hairs.
If the princess hadn't turned around, and if Max hadn't wanted that box
of Havanas!
When I arrived at Müller's I found my boys in a merry mood. They were
singing softly from _Robin Hood_ with fine college harmony, and as I
entered they swarmed about me like so many young dogs. Truth to tell,
none of them was under twenty, and two or three were older than myself.
But to them I represented official protection for whatever they might
do. I assumed all the dignity I dared. I had kept Scharfenstein's
name back as a surprise.
Ellis--for whom I had the passports--immediately struck me as being so
nearly like Max that they might easily have been brothers. Ellis was
slighter; that was all the difference. I gave him his papers and
examined his tickets. All was well; barring accidents, he would be in
Dresden the next day.
"You go through Doppelkinn, then?" said I.
"Yes. I have friends in Dresden whom I wish to see before going home."
"Well, good luck to you!"
Then I announced that Max Scharfenstein, an old college comrade, would
join us presently. This was greeted with hurrahs. At that time there
wasn't an American student who did not recollect Max's great run from
the ten-yard line. (But where the deuce _was_ Max?) I took a little
flag from my pocket and stuck it into the vase of poppies, and the boys
clapped their hands. You never realize how beautiful your flag is till
you see it in a foreign land. I apologized for Max's absence,
explaining the cause, and ordered dinner to be served. We hadn't much
time, as Ellis's train departed at ten. It was now a quarter to nine.
We had come to the relishes when a party of four officers took the
table nearest us. They hung up their sabers on the wall-pegs, and sat
down, ordering a bottle of light wine. Usually there were five chairs
to the table, but even if only two were being used no one had the right
to withdraw one of the vacant chairs without the most elaborate
apologies. This is the law of courtesy in Barscheit. In America it is
different; if you see anything you want, take it.