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Page 320 text:
"Sammy" Qwho has what Prof. Owen calls the aesthetic sensej blushes crimson and shifts
in his embarrassment from one foot to another until he meets the glance of our prodigy. Thus
inspired he skilfully evades and answers:
"Mit den Lippen sprechen wir."
The Doktor no less surprised by the ingenuity as by the correctness of the answer ventures
to ask another.
"Was tun Sie mit den Handen ?"
But this was too much. "Sammy's" aesthetic sense got so much control of him this time that
he disclained to give such a prosaic answer as before, and his confusion and the pleasant memories
aroused prevented any other. For once our prodigy failed.
The Doktor, already repenting for having tried to make too much of a good thing, made
ample apologies which we can not here recollect, but ends with:
"Sic mogen sich setzenf'
Sammy intelligently obeys.
The Doktor, looking at his watch, hastily resumes:
"Herr Klein! Gehen Sie an die Tafelf' '
The Herr addressed, if not understanding the words, could not doubt the sweeping gesture:
and starts toward the board.
The Doktor Cagain consulting his watchj, "Schnell."
Herr Klein halts.
The Doktor shouts: "Scheller, Schnellerf'
Klein fwho takes Prof. Mecklinj has logic enough to feel assured that if he wasn't meant
to stop, he was to go on. This he does hastily. The Doktor seeing such an unusual sign of
intelligence is satisfied and so says: ,
"Setzen Sie sich! Das ist genung!"
Herr Klein, only understanding the first part, looks doubtfully toward the Doktor and then
toward the floor, but finally resolutely and defiantly goes to his seat, and sits down there.
Now the Doktor begins to give the class an interesting German account of how grain is sowed,
thrcshed, made into bread, etc., but Herr Miller, who comes from the outlying districts, interrupts
and blandly but courteously informs the Doktor that the field is first harrowed and then planted.
Seeing that the class was not appreciating his efforts, he began the last part in the recitation.
Up to this time, the Doktor led the conversation. Now the Doktor leaves it all to the class
to ask one another questions and converse.
Herr Spotts was to open the conversation. Noticing the far-away look in the eyes of Herr
Klein, he asks:
"Herr Klein, wie heiszt sie?"
Taken unawares Herr Klein in a rapturous tone begins, "sie heiszt-," but suddenly realizing
the reality of things saucily replies, "Was ist das zu you?" fthe Doktor has become engrossed in
an illustrated German magazine, and is oblivious to the errors of his young hopefulsj.
In turn Klein asks:
"Herr Miller F., bist du hier?" 4
"Nein! Ich bin da!" Csarcasticallyj "Herr Pryce, wie spat waren Sie aus last night."
tThe Doktor's smile broadens as he regards the beauty of the picture from all angles. Either
Page 319 text:
The Doktor finally gets impatient Cwe cannot blame himj but seeks for a justification of his
next step, when he recalls that famous German proverb. With a brightening countenance he
"Zeit ist Geld!"
The class is almost vanquished by this wisdom, but that most brilliant wit of all South
Easton, Hen Miller F., shouts, but
"Schweigen ist Gold."
The Doktor's sense of justice recognizes the truth of this, and himself vanquished addresses
Miller R. with
"Setzen Sie sich !"
Miller mechanically sits down Qthis expression being understood by all not so much by its
exact meaning as by the movement which habitually follows itj.
The Doktor now seemed to be looking for a more hopeful case as he scanned our countenances.
His glasses must have been blurred for he mistook for a pure German one the Pennsylvania-Dutch
countenance of Fegley, whom he called on with an air of confident assurance:
"Herr Fegley-Ist der Winter kalt oder warm?" -
Fegley's answer, in pure Allentown dialect of Penna.-Dutch, is omitted by the express
request of the Doktor. That excellent man, mastering his rising disgust with admirable self-
control, hastened to the door and opened it as if to let out the air polluted by such a language.
Recovered, he returns and mercilessly vanquishes the unsuspecting Fegley by looking him
sternly in the eye, and contemptuously pronouncing these magical words.
"Das ist nicht Deutscli !! " '
Fegley, humbled, meekly ventures to sit down.
The Doktor, nodding his approval of this last action, resumes:
"Herr Ketchleclge, Wann gehe11 Sie zu Bett? "
Misintcrpreting the question our elongated hero answers, "Neinl "
The Doktor misunderstanding the answer shouts: "Auf Deutsch! Auf Deutsch! Sie miissen
Deutsch spreehen, nicht English! "
This avalanche of Teutonic philosophy Cfor such we suppose itj almost stupefies our hero,
who looks blankly at the Doktor, who being also compassionate kindly explains what is wanted,
and Herr Ketchledge inspired by that prodigy, Laird, answers:
The Doktor was so confounded to find such wisdom in one who hails from Easton that he
wholly overlooked the English answer, and for a couple of moments was speechless. Finally
he recovers just in time to catch the class napping. He exclaims!
"Herr Spotts! Schlafcn Sie?"
Herr S. Cmeeklyj-"ja." '
Herr Spotts, who is at a loss for an answer, not knowing whether the word signified why,
which, wherefore, or what, eventually answers:
"Ich Weiss nicht."
The Doktor now began to launch out into a tiradc against the class but, seeing in DeWces,
who is eager to shine, a last hope, he calls on him.
"Herr DeWces, Was tun Sie mit den Lippen?"
Page 321 text:
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the Doktor's interest was so arousedias to make him oblivious of all errors, or all must be correct.j
The conversation continues.
Herr Pryce, forgetting to answer, asks: "Herr Laird, kormen Sie."
Herr Laird-"Ich kann." QThe prodigy never crrs.j "Herr Palmer, wohncn Sie in P'burg?"
One can best understand the righteous indignation of this ill-timed insinuation when it is
realized that Herr Palmer comes from no less a place than Pen Argyl. Palmer's fury bid fair
to play havoc with the conversation and the Doktor's peace, but the mighty Pryce restrains him.
Subsiding, Herr Palmer shouts, "Nein, never!" and asks "Herr MoFfat, Wo waren Sie last night?"
Herr Moffat-"Ich Weiss nicht." This unexpected truth was so sudden that the class almost
awakened the Doktor from his infatuation, but Herr Moffat quickly asks: "Herr Miller R., sind
Sic frisch?" '
Herr Miller, not understanding this last word, and seeing in it only a humiliating insinuation,
assumes a belligerent attitude by taking off his glasses and preparing to take off his coat. Herr
Moffat tremblcs and tries to explain. The class anxiously awaits. At this point our prodigy
Herr Laird assumes the role of peaccmaker and averts hostilities by starting the conversation with,
"Herr Ketchledge, wohin gchcn Sie to-night?"
QThe Doktor must have reached the theatrical page of the magazine, for it verily seemed
as though he couldn't be aroused and all wondered whether he would hear the bell.j
For unknownC?j reasons Kctchledge refuses to answer, thereby only adding to the aroused
emotions of the class. He then asks:
"Herr DeWees, sind Sie fleissig?"
That gentleman feeling slighted that he had been asked an question which required so simple
an answer, was by no means discomfited, but began a lengthy discussion of- Qwe don't know
what he said, so we can't say on what subject he was dissertatingj. After what seemed to be an
enumeration or a conjugation of verbs at the end of his sentence he asks:
"Herr Fegely, konnen Sie Deutsch sprechen P"
"Ya, e kin ditsch sprechenf'
This was too much. Such accents were what was needed to arouse the Doktor from his
rapturous enjoyment of the aesthetic product of the artist's imagination. Roughly brought to
earth, the Doktor leaps to his feet, and with fire in his eye, scans the class for the offender. In-
stinctively his eyes settle on Fegely who, for the second time in one day, had disgraced, nay con-
taminated, the sacred precincts of the German lecture room with vulgar Pennsylvania Dutch.
Fegely looks guilty and shrinks back in fear. The Doktor's glare is terrible. The class is breath-
But lo! the true magnificence of the Doktor, whose countless virtues we could not enumerate,
was brilliantly displayed. With remarkable self-control he became calmg with a look quells the
utterly humiliated Fegelyg and with a wisdom, rivaling Solomon, calls music to the rescue of
his troubled soul. He approaches the piano, deftly runs his lingers over a few keys, looks to the
class for approval, plays the Melodei, and puts heart and soul into a classic rendering of that
sehonste Jungfrau, the Lorelei. As the last notes were still dying away, the ecstatic delight of
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