ve at. He found himself finally hungry
and made his way to Fritzi's little inn. He felt almost beaten out.
Was he really well?

The middle of the afternoon had come. There she was fresh, free,
like a hardy wild flower. She trotted back and forth, curtseying,
chattering, with her merry heels clicking on the tiling. The hot
sausages and _Lebkuchen_ and a stein were hastened in, and she
switched her short skirts down cosily on a bench in front of him to
knit and look out after his needs. He had encouraged such
opportunities for the practice of conversation.

"I've been looking for you to come in," she lisped.

"Why?"

"I wanted to ask you to buy a ticket for our Waitress Dance, and I
did not know at all where you lived." It was a long sentence for
her and she giggled.

"Number 5, Wiesenstrasse, Loschwitz."

"Gott im Himmel! That's way off."

"When _is_ your dance?"

"It's to-night. And it's only twelve marks." She fumbled out a
ticket from beneath her white apron with a maid's agitation.

"I'll take it," said Gard.

"But you have to promise to go. They want every ticket holder to
go."

"Are you going?"

"Of course I'm going. It's all us waitresses. And it's only once a
year. The waiters have theirs twice a year."

"And are you going to dance?"

"Of course I'm going to dance. I always dance." She perked up her
head with her young red mouth open in almost childish puzzlement, as
much as to say, "Why, what are balls for?"

Gard looked down on his fattening supply of smoking sausages and
honey cakes. A servants' ball might be just the thing to cure his
disgust with Loschwitz--with himself--with everything. He had heard
Friedrich, Messer and Jim Deming exclaim enthusiastically about
these popular fetes. They should not, it appeared, be missed if one
wanted to see the real German nature let loose.

"Well, if you're going to dance, I'll go," he promised.

"You bet your life I'm going to dance!" Fritzi cried out in the
Saxon dialect's equivalent as she sprang up, and wheeled off to wait
on a new visitor. When she had served him she sidled back to Gard's
table with a doubting, half-disappointed air.

"You're fooling me." She stuck her tongue out on her upper lip in
peasant bashfulness.

"No, I'll be there as sure as I'm now paying for the ticket." He
filled her fat hand with the coins which it could hardly hold. She
went away happy.

The ball did not begin until ten, to give the young ladies time to
fi