FAREWELL TO KNAPFS
Consternation has corrugated the brows of the aborigines. Consternation
twice confounded had added a wrinkle or two to my collection. We are
homeless. That is, we are Knapfless—we, to whom the Knapfs spelled
home.
Herr Knapf, mustache aquiver, and Frau Knapf, cheek bones glistening,
broke the news to us one evening just a week after the exciting day
which so changed Bennie’s life. “Es thut uns sehr, sehr leid,” Herr
Knapf had begun. And before he had finished, protesting German groans
mingled with voluble German explanations. The aborigines were stricken
down. They clapped pudgy fists to knobby foreheads; they smote their
breasts, and made wild gestures with their arms. If my protests were
less frenzied than theirs, it was only because my knowledge of German
stops at words of six syllables.
Out of the chaos of ejaculations and interrogation the reason for our
expulsion at last was made clear. The little German hotel had not been
remunerative. Our host and hostess were too hospitable and too polite
to state the true reason for this state of affairs. Perhaps rents were
too high. Perhaps, thought I, Frau Knapf had been too liberal with the
butter in the stewed chicken. Perhaps there had been too many golden
Pfannkuchen with real eggs and milk stirred into them, and with
toothsome little islands of ruddy currant jelly on top. Perhaps there
had been too much honest, nourishing food, and not enough
boarding-house victuals. At any rate, the enterprise would have to be
abandoned.
It was then that the bare, bright little dining room, with its queer
prints of chin-chucking lieutenants, and its queerer faces, and its
German cookery became very dear to me. I had grown to like Frau Knapf,
of the shining cheek bones, and Herr Knapf, of the heavy geniality. A
close bond of friendship had sprung up between Frau Nirlanger and me. I
would miss her friendly visits, and her pretty ways, and her sparkling
conversation. She and I had held many kimonoed pow-wows, and
sometimes—not often—she had given me wonderful glimpses of that which
she had left—of Vienna, the opera, the court, the life which had been
hers. She talked marvelously well, for she had all the charm and
vivacity of the true Viennese. Even the aborigines, bristling
pompadours, thick spectacles, terrifying manner, and all, became as
dear as old friends, now that I knew I must lose them.
The great, high-ceilinged room upstairs had taken on the look of home.
The Blue-beard closet no longer appalled me. The very purpleness of the
purple roses in the rug had grown beautiful in my eyes because they
were part of that little domain which spelled peace and comfort and
kindness. How could I live without the stout yellow brocade armchair!
Its plethoric curves were balm for my tired bones. Its great lap
admitted of sitting with knees crossed, Turk-fashion. Its cushioned
back stopped just at the point where the head found needed support. Its
pudgy arms offered rest for tired elbows; its yielding bosom was made
for tired backs. Given the padded comfort of that stout old chair—a
friendly, time-tried book between my fingers—a dish of ruddy apples
twinkling in the fire-light; my mundane soul snuggled in content. And
then, too, the book-in-the-making had grown in that room. It had
developed from a weak, wobbling uncertainty into a lusty full-blooded
thing that grew and grew until it promised soon to become mansize.
Now all this was to be changed. And I knew that I would miss the easy
German atmosphere of the place; the kindness they had shown me; the
chattering, admiring Minna; the taffy-colored dachshund; the aborigines
with their ill-smelling pipes and flappy slippers; the Wienerschnitzel;
the crushed-looking wives and the masterful German husbands; the very
darns in the table-cloths and the very nicks in the china.
We had a last family gathering in token of our appreciation of Herr and
Frau Knapf. And because I had not seen him for almost three weeks; and
because the time for his going was drawing so sickeningly near; and
because I was quite sure that I had myself in hand; and because he knew
the Knapfs, and was fond of them; and because-well, I invited Von
Gerhard. He came, and I found myself dangerously glad to see him, so
that I made my greeting as airy and frivolous as possible. Perhaps I
overdid the airy business, for Von Gerhard looked at me for a long,
silent minute, until the nonsense I had been chattering died on my
lips, and I found myself staring up at him like a child that is
apprehensive of being scolded for some naughtiness.
“Not so much chatter, small one,” he said, unsmilingly. “This pretense,
it is not necessary between you and me. So. You are ein bischen blasz,
nicht? A little pale? You have not been ill, Dawn?”
“Ill? Never felt more chipper in my life,” I made flippant answer, “and
I adore these people who are forever telling one how unusually thin, or
pale, or scrawny one is looking.”
“Na, they are not to be satisfied, these women! If I were to tell you
how lovely you look to me to-night you would draw yourself up with
chill dignity and remind me that I am not privileged to say these
things to you. So I discreetly mention that you are looking,
interestingly pale, taking care to keep all tenderness out of my tones,
and still you are not pleased.” He shrugged despairing shoulders.
“Can’t you strike a happy medium between rudeness and tenderness? After
all, I haven’t had a glimpse of your blond beauty for three weeks. And
while I don’t ask you to whisper sweet nothings, still, after
twenty-one days—”
“You have been lonely? If only I thought that those weeks have been as
wearisome to you—”
“Not lonely exactly,” I hurriedly interrupted, “but sort of wishing
that some one would pat me on the head and tell me that I was a good
doggie. You know what I mean. It is so easy to become accustomed to
thoughtfulness and devotion, and so dreadfully hard to be happy without
it, once one has had it. This has been a sort of training for what I
may expect when Vienna has swallowed you up.”
“You are still obstinate? These three weeks have not changed you? Ach,
Dawn! Kindchen!—”
But I knew that these were thin spots marked “Danger!” in our
conversational pond. So, “Come,” said I. “I have two new aborigines for
you to meet. They are the very shiniest and wildest of all our
shiny-faced and wild aborigines. And you should see their trousers and
neckties! If you dare to come back from Vienna wearing trousers like
these!—”
“And is the party in honor of these new aborigines?” laughed Von
Gerhard. “You did not explain in your note. Merely you asked me to
come, knowing that I cared not if it were a lawn fete or a ball, so
long as I might again be with you.”
We were on our way to the dining room, where the festivities were to be
held. I stopped and turned a look of surprise upon him.
“Don’t you know that the Knapfs are leaving? Did I neglect to mention
that this is a farewell party for Herr and Frau Knapf? We are losing
our home, and we have just one week in which to find another.”
“But where will you go? And why did you not tell me this before?”
“I haven’t an idea where I shall lay my poor old head. In the lap of
the gods, probably, for I don’t know how I shall find the time to
interview landladies and pack my belongings in seven short days. The
book will have to suffer for it. Just when it was getting along so
beautifully, too.”
There was a dangerous tenderness in Von Gerhard’s eyes as he said:
“Again you are a wanderer, eh—small one? That you, with your love of
beautiful things, and your fastidiousness, should have to live in this
way—in these boarding-houses, alone, with not even the comforts that
should be yours. Ach, Kindchen, you were not made for that. You were
intended for the home, with a husband, and kinder, and all that is
truly worth while.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat as I shrugged my shoulders. “Pooh! Any
woman can have a husband and babies,” I retorted, wickedly. “But mighty
few women can write a book. It’s a special curse.”
“And you prefer this life—this existence, to the things that I offer
you! You would endure these hardships rather than give up the
nonsensical views which you entertain toward your—”
“Please. We were not to talk of that. I am enduring no hardships. Since
I have lived in this pretty town I have become a worshiper of the
goddess Gemutlichkeit. Perhaps I shan’t find another home as dear to my
heart as this has been, but at least I shan’t have to sleep on a park
bench, and any one can tell you that park benches have long been the
favored resting place of genius. There is Frau Nirlanger beckoning us.
Now do stop scowling, and smile for the lady. I know you will get on
beautifully with the aborigines.”
He did get on with them so beautifully that in less than half an hour
they were swapping stories of Germany, of Austria, of the universities,
of student life. Frau Knapf served a late supper, at which some one led
in singing Auld Lang Syne, although the sounds emanating from the
aborigines’ end of the table sounded suspiciously like Die Wacht am
Rhein. Following that the aborigines rose en masse and roared out their
German university songs, banging their glasses on the table when they
came to the chorus until we all caught the spirit of it and banged our
glasses like rathskeller veterans. Then the red-faced and amorous
Fritz, he of the absent Lena, announced his intention of entertaining
the company. Made bold by an injudicious mixture of Herr Knapf’s
excellent beer, and a wonderful punch which Von Gerhard had concocted,
Fritz mounted his chair, placed his plump hand over the spot where he
supposed his heart to be, fastened his watery blue eyes upon my
surprised and blushing countenance, and sang “Weh! Dass Wir Scheiden
Mussen!” in an astonishingly beautiful barytone. I dared not look at
Von Gerhard, for I knew that he was purple with suppressed mirth, so I
stared stonily at the sardine sandwich and dill pickle on my plate, and
felt myself growing hot and hysterical, and cold and tearful by turns.
At the end of the last verse I rose hastily and brought from their
hiding-place the gifts which we of Knapfs’ had purchased as
remembrances for Herr and Frau Knapf. I had been delegated to make the
presentation speech, so I grasped in one hand the too elaborate pipe
that was to make Herr Knapf unhappy, and the too fashionable silk
umbrella that was to appall Frau Knapf, and ascended the little
platform at the end of the dining room, and began to speak in what I
fondly thought to be fluent and highsounding German. Immediately the
aborigines went off into paroxysms of laughter. They threw back their
heads and roared, and slapped their thighs, and spluttered. It appeared
that they thought I was making a humorous speech. At that discovery I
cast dignity aside and continued my speech in the language of a German
vaudeville comedian, with a dash of Weber and Field here and there.
With the presentation of the silk umbrella Frau Knapf burst into tears,
groped about helplessly for her apron, realized that it was missing
from its accustomed place, and wiped her tears upon her cherished blue
silk sleeve in the utter abandon of her sorrow. We drank to the future
health and prosperity of our tearful host and hostess, and some one
suggested drei mal drei, to which we responded in a manner to make the
chin-chucking lieutenant tremble in his frame on the wall.
When it was all over Frau Nirlanger beckoned me, and she, Dr. von
Gerhard and I stole out into the hall and stood at the foot of the
stairway, discussing our plans for the future, and trying to smile as
we talked of this plan and that. Frau Nirlanger, in the pretty white
gown, was looking haggard and distrait. The oogly husband was still in
the dining room, finishing the beer and punch, of which he had already
taken too much.
“A tiny apartment we have taken,” said Frau Nirlanger, softly. “It is
better so. Then I shall have a little housework, a little cooking, a
little marketing to keep me busy and perhaps happy.” Her hand closed
over mine. “But that shall us not separate,” she pleaded. “Without you
to make me sometimes laugh what should I then do? You will bring her
often to our little apartment, not?” she went on, turning appealingly
to Von Gerhard.
“As often as Mrs. Orme will allow me,” he answered.
“Ach, yes. So lonely I shall be. You do not know what she has been to
me, this Dawn. She is brave for two. Always laughing she is, and merry,
nicht wahr? Meine kleine Soldatin, I call her.
“Soldatin, eh?” mused Von Gerhard. “Our little soldier. She is well
named. And her battles she fights alone. But quite alone.” His eyes, as
they looked down on me from his great height had that in them which
sent the blood rushing and tingling to my finger-tips. I brought my
hand to my head in stiff military salute.
“Inspection satisfactory, sir?”
He laughed a rueful little laugh. “Eminently. Aber ganz befriedigend.”
He was very tall, and straight and good to look at as he stood there in
the hall with the light from the newel-post illuminating his features
and emphasizing his blondness. Frau Nirlanger’s face wore a drawn
little look of pain as she gazed at him, and from him to the figure of
her husband who had just emerged from the dining room, and was making
unsteady progress toward us. Herr Nirlanger’s face was flushed and his
damp, dark hair was awry so that one lock straggled limply down over
his forehead. As he approached he surveyed us with a surly frown that
changed slowly into a leering grin. He lurched over and placed a hand
familiarly on my shoulder.
“We mus’ part,” he announced, dramatically. “O, weh! The bes’ of
frien’s m’z part. Well, g’by, li’l interfering Teufel. F’give you,
though, b’cause you’re such a pretty li’l Teufel.” He raised one hand
as though to pat my check and because of the horror which I saw on the
face of the woman beside me I tried to smile, and did not shrink from
him. But with a quick movement Von Gerhard clutched the swaying figure
and turned it so that it faced the stairs.
“Come Nirlanger! Time for hard-working men like you and me to be in
bed. Mrs. Orme must not nod over her desk to-morrow, either. So
good-night. Schlafen Sie wohl.”
Konrad Nirlanger turned a scowling face over his shoulder. Then he
forgot what he was scowling for, and smiled a leering smile.
“Pretty good frien’s, you an’ the li’l Teufel, yes? Guess we’ll have to
watch you, huh, Anna? We’ll watch ’em, won’t we?”
He began to climb the stairs laboriously, with Frau Nirlanger’s light
figure flitting just ahead of him. At the bend in the stairway she
turned and looked down on us a moment, her eyes very bright and big.
She pressed her fingers to her lips and wafted a little kiss toward us
with a gesture indescribably graceful and pathetic. She viewed her
husband’s laborious progress, not daring to offer help. Then the turn
in the stair hid her from sight.
In the dim quiet of the little hallway Von Gerhard held out his
hands—those deft, manual hands—those steady, sure, surgeonly
hands—hands to cling to, to steady oneself by, and because I needed
them most just then, and because I longed with my whole soul to place
both my weary hands in those strong capable ones and to bring those
dear, cool, sane fingers up to my burning cheeks, I put one foot on the
first stair and held out two chilly fingertips. “Good-night, Herr
Doktor,” I said, “and thank you, not only for myself, but for her. I
have felt what she feels to-night. It is not a pleasant thing to be
ashamed of one’s husband.”
Von Gerhard’s two hands closed over that one of mine. “Dawn, you will
let me help you to find comfortable quarters? You cannot tramp about
from place to place all the week. Let us get a list of addresses, and
then, with the machine, we can drive from one to the other in an hour.
It will at least save you time and strength.”
“Go boarding-house hunting in a stunning green automobile!” I
exclaimed. From my vantage point on the steps I could look down on him,
and there came over me a great longing to run my fingers gently through
that crisp blond hair, and to bring his head down close against my
breast for one exquisite moment. So—“Landladies and oitermobiles!” I
laughed. “Never! Don’t you know that if they got one glimpse, through
the front parlor windows, of me stepping grand-like out of your green
motor car, they would promptly over-charge me for any room in the
house? I shall go room-hunting in my oldest hat, with one finger
sticking out of my glove.”
Von Gerhard shrugged despairing shoulders.
“Na, of what use is it to plead with you. Sometimes I wonder if, after
all, you are not merely amusing yourself. Getting copy, perhaps, for
the book, or a new experience to add to your already varied store.”
Abruptly I turned to hide my pain, and began to ascend the stairs. With
a bound Von Gerhard was beside me, his face drawn and contrite.
“Forgive me, Dawn! I know that you are wisest. It is only that I become
a little mad, I think, when I see you battling alone like this, among
strangers, and know that I have not the right to help you. I knew not
what I was saying. Come, raise your eyes and smile, like the little
Soldatin that you are. So. Now I am forgiven, yes?”
I smiled cheerily enough into his blue eyes. “Quite forgiven. And now
you must run along. This is scandalously late. The aborigines will be
along saying ‘Morgen!’ instead of ‘Nabben’!’ if we stay here much
longer. Good-night.”
“You will give me your new address as soon as you have found a
satisfactory home?”
“Never fear! I probably shall be pestering you with telephone calls,
urging you to have pity upon me in my loneliness. Now goodnight again.
I’m as full of farewells as a Bernhardt.” And to end it I ran up the
stairs. At the bend, just where Frau Nirlanger had turned, I too
stopped and looked over my shoulder. Von Gerhard was standing as I had
left him, looking up at me. And like Frau Nirlanger, I wafted a little
kiss in his direction, before I allowed the bend in the stairs to cut
off my view. But Von Gerhard did not signify by look or word that he
had seen it, as he stood looking up at me, one strong white hand
resting on the broad baluster.