“Fine!” applauded Blackie. “You’re on. And here comes Rosie.” Rosie, the radiant, placed on the table cups and saucers of an unbelievable thickness. She set them down on the marble surface with a crash as one who knows well that no mere marble or granite could shatter the solidity of those stout earthenware receptacles. Napkins there were none. I was to learn that fingers were rid of any clinging remnants of cream or crumb by the simple expedient of licking them. Blackie emptied his pitcher of cream into his cup of black, black coffee, sugared it, stirred, tasted, and then, with a wicked gleam in his black eyes he lifted the heavy cup to his lips and took a long, gurgling mouthful. “Blackie,” I hissed, “if you do that again I shall refuse to speak to you!” “Do what?” demanded he, all injured innocence. “Snuffle up your coffee like that.” “Why, girl, that’s th’ proper way t’ drink coffee here. Listen t’ everybody else.” And while I glared he wrapped his hand lovingly about his cup, holding the spoon imprisoned between first and second fingers, and took another sibilant mouthful. “Any more of your back talk and I’ll drink it out of m’ saucer an’ blow on it like the hefty party over there in the earrings is doin’. Calm yerself an’ try a Bismarck.” I picked up one of the flaky confections and eyed it in despair. There were no plates except that on which the cakes reposed. “How does one eat them?” I inquired. “Yuh don’t really eat ’em. The motion is more like inhalin’. T’ eat ’em successful you really ought t’ get into a bath-tub half-filled with water, because as soon’s you bite in at one end w’y the custard stuff slides out at the other, an’ no human mouth c’n be two places at oncet. Shut your eyes girl, an’ just wade in.” I waded. In silence I took a deep delicious bite, nimbly chased the coy filling around a corner with my tongue, devoured every bit down to the last crumb and licked the stickiness off my fingers. Then I investigated the interior of the next cake. “I’m coming here every day,” I announced. “Better not. Ruin your complexion and turn all your lines into bumps. Look at the dame with the earrings. I’ve been keepin’ count an’ I’ve seen her eat three Schnecken, two cream puffs, a Nusshornchen and a slice of Torte with two cups of coffee. Ain’t she a horrible example! And yet she’s got th’ nerve t’ wear a princess gown!” “I don’t care,” I replied, recklessly, my voice choked with whipped cream and butteriness. “I can just feel myself getting greasy. Haven’t I done beautifully for a new hand? Now tell me about some of these people. Who is the funny little man in the checked suit with the black braid trimming, and the green cravat, and the white spats, and the tan hat and the eyeglasses?”