mutton-shaped whiskers, appeared, and hastened to the assistance of Stephensen.
"Welcome, Professor!" he said, and so that he might leave no doubt as to his personal knowledge of the customers, he hastily added: "Arrived from Denmark in order to paint again, I suppose?"
"That's just it. How are things going on at the 'Three Ravens,' Heinrich?"
"As usual, Professor, as well as usual, I am glad to say; only that last year we stopped drawing Bohemian beer, which the Professor sometimes drank. Well, there was also a waiter on the staff—but perhaps the Professor remembers Frants, the tall fellow with the red beard?"
"Perfectly well; is he not here?"
"Last Easter he opened a bar in Friedrichstadt. He is supposed to be doing well, but I say, 'a bird in the hand'"
"You are right. It would never do for you to leave the 'Three Ravens,' we couldn't do without you. Look here, could we be by ourselves, Heinrich?"
"Oh, dear me, yes, Professor. Shall it be Pilsener?"
"Yes, two—and"
"With a lid, of course, Professor," the waiter said, anticipating him, and bowing and flicking the napkin under his arm, after which he quickly disappeared.
I sat down on a little velvet sofa with the depressing feeling of inferiority that one gets in a public place in the society of a regular customer, who is treated half as a prince and half as a comrade by the waiter, while whatever attention is shown to outsiders is given as a favour. And what a customer! Arriving here after a couple of years' absence, and being received as if he had left last night. Stephensen, "the Professor," evidently enjoyed his triumph, while he stretched out his legs, glanced in the
