Part 42 (1/2)

”There is reason for that,” said Habermann, throwing his arm over Brasig's shoulder, ”my old friend has bad a touch of Podagra again.”

”Yes, yes,” laughed the rector, growing quite merry:

”Vinum the father, And c[oe]na the mother, And Venus the nurse, Produce the Podagra.”

”The seed is beautiful!” cried Kurz, ”you will find no better between Grimmen and Greifswald.”

”Ho, ho, Kurz,” said Habermann, ”not go fast! I have a word to say----”

”Listen to me!” said Brasig, across to the rector. ”Don't come near me with your French! I don't understand it. What did you say about Fenus?

What have I, and my cursed Podagra, to do with Fenus?”

”My honored friend and benefactor,” said the rector, with unction, ”Venus was, in antiquity, the G.o.ddess of love.”

”It is all one to me,” said Brasig, ”she might be something very different, for all I care,--now-a-days, every stupid sheep-dog is called Fenus.”

”No, Habermann,” cried Kurz, again, ”if the clover seed has the right l.u.s.tre, and looks so violet-blue, then----”

”Well, Kurz,” said Habermann, ”yours didn't look like that.”

”My benefactor,” said the rector again, to Brasig. ”Venus was, as I have said, a G.o.ddess, and as a sheep-dog----”

”Eh, what?” said Brasig, ”you must have imagined all that, about the G.o.ddess, Fenus means a sort of bird. Karl, don't you remember the stories we read, when we were children, about the bird Fenus?”

”Ah!” said the rector, as light dawned upon his mind, ”you mean the bird Ph[oe]nix, which builds itself, in Arabia, a nest of costly spices----”

”That is an impossibility!” exclaimed Kurz. ”How can the most skillful bird build a nest out of cloves, pepper-corns, cardamoms and nutmegs?”

”Dear brother-in-law, it is only a fable.”

”Then the fable is a falsehood,” said Brasig, ”but I don't think you p.r.o.nounce the word rightly; it isn't Ph[oe]nix, it is Ponix, and they are not birds, they are little horses, and they don't come from Arabia, but from Sweden, and Oland, and I know them very well, for my gracious lady the countess had two Ponixes, which she used to drive for pleasure.”

The rector wanted to set him right, but Kurz interrupted: ”No, brother-in-law, let it go! We all know that you are better informed than Brasig, in such learned matters.”

”No,” said Brasig, ”let him come on!” standing before the rector, as if he had no objections to a contest.

”No, no!” exclaimed Kurz. ”We didn't come out here, to quarrel about Venuses and clover-seed; we came merely to have a pleasant game of Boston.”

”We can have that,” said Habermann, beginning to clear the table.

”Hold, Karl,” said Brasig, ”I don't like to see you doing that, that is the house-steward's business.” And with that he roared across the court, ”Triddelsitz!” and Fritz came running in. ”Triddelsitz, we are going to play Boston, get the table ready, and a sheet of paper to set down the winnings, and fill the pipes, and make a handful of matches.”

And when Fritz had made ready, they sat down, and prepared to begin.

They must first decide how high they would play. Kurz was for playing Boston grandissimo, for s.h.i.+lling points; but Kurz was always very venturesome; that was a little too high for the others, and Brasig declared that he wouldn't sit down to play, to get people's money out of their pockets. At last, through Habermann's interposition, they settled what the game should be, and were ready to begin.

”Who has diamonds?” asked the rector; ”he deals.”

”Kurz deals,” said Brasig.