Clear
out, both of you!"
"Work at last," said Dietrich, as he and Gretchen started for the city.
"If I can get a position in the brewery for the winter I shall be rich."
"Oh, the beautiful world!"
"Do you recall the first day I met you?" he asked.
"Yes. A little more and that dog would have killed the big gander. What
little things bring about big ones! When I walked into the city that
day, had any one told me that I should fall in love, I should have
laughed."
"And I!"
Arm in arm they went on. Sometimes Gretchen sang; often he put her hand
to his lips. By and by they came abreast of an old Gipsy. He wore a
coat of Joseph's, and his face was as lined as a frost-bitten apple. But
his eyes were keen and undimmed, and he walked confidently and erect,
like a man who has always lived in the open.
"Will you tell me how to find the Adlergasse?" he asked in broken
German. His accent was that of a Magyar. He had a smattering of a dozen
tongues at his command, for in his time he had crossed and recrossed the
Danube, the Rhine, and the Rhone.
They carelessly gave him specific directions and passed on. He followed
grimly, like fate, whose agent he was, though long delayed. When he
reached the Adlergasse he looked for a sign. He came to a stop in front
of the dingy shop of the clock-mender.
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