"I, am in the habit of doing anything I please."
"Ah, Herr is one of those millionaires I have read about!"
"Yes, I am very rich." I laughed, but Gretchen did not see the point.
"Come, then, with me, and you shall weed the knoblauch patch."
She was laughing at me, but I was not to be abashed.
"To the patch be it, then!" I cried. "An onion would smell as sweet
under any other name."
So Gretchen and I went into the onion patch, and I weeded and hoed and
hoed and weeded till my back ached and my hands were the color of the
soil. Nothing was done satisfactorily to Gretchen. It was, "There,
you have ruined the row back of you!" or "Pull the weeds more gently!"
and sometimes, "Ach! could your friends see you now!" I suppose that I
did not make a pretty picture. The perspiration would run down my
face. I would forget the condition of my hands and push back my hair,
which fell like a mop over my brow, whereat she would laugh. Once I
took her hand and helped her to jump over a row. I was surprised at
the strength of her grasp.
"What does Herr do for a living, he works so badly as a gardener?"
"I am a journalist," I answered, leaning on my hoe and breathing
heavily.
Pages:
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130