All down the room, by the wall, ran long tables black with age and grime. Men of every age and nationality were eating, drinking, smoking and talking. Some of them knew Herr Gottfried, some did not. “Wie gehts, Gottfried?” And Herr Gottfried, planting his flat feet like dead weights in front of him, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair, smiled at some, spoke to others, and at last found a little corner at the end of the room, a corner comparatively quiet but most astoundingly smelly. Peter sat down and recovered his breath. How far away now was Treliss with its cobbled street, and the Grey Hill with the Giant's Finger pointing solemnly to the sky. “I have no money,” he said. “The Master has given me this for you,” Herr Gottfried said, handing him two sovereigns, “he says it is in advance for the week.” The meat-pies, beer and bread were ordered and then for a time they sat in silence. Peter was turning in his mind a thousand questions that he would like to ask but he was still afraid of his strange companion and he felt a little as though he were some human volcano that might at any moment burst forth and cover him with furious disaster. Then Herr Gottfried said: “And so you care for reading?” “Yes.” “What do you read?” What had Peter read? He mentioned timidly “David Copperfield,” “Don Quixote,” and “Henry Lessingham.” “Ah, that's the way--novels, novels, novels--always sugar ... Greek, Latin?” “No, just a little at school.” “Ah, yes, your schools. I know them. Homer?” “No, I'm afraid not.” “Ah, well you shall read Homer. He is the greatest, he is the Master. There is Pope for a beginning. I will teach you Greek.... Goethe?” “I--beg your pardon.” “Goethe, Goethe, Goethe--he has never heard of him--never. Ah, these schools--I know them. Teach them nonsense--often enough--but any wisdom--never--” “I'm very sorry--” said Peter humbly. “And music?” “I've had no opportunity--” “But you would love it? Yes, I see that you would love it--it is in your eyes. Beethoven? No--later perhaps--then often enough--but Schubert! Ah, Schubert!” (Here the meat-pies arrived but Herr Gottfried did not see them). “Ah, the Unfinished! He shall hear that and he will have a new soul--And the songs! Gott in Himmel, the songs! There is a man I know, he will sing them to you. Die Mullerlieder. It is always water, the Flowers, the Sun and all the roses in the world ... ach! 'Dir Spinnerin' 'Meersstille' ... 'Meersstille'--yah, Homer, Schubert--meat and drink--Homer the meat-pie, Schubert the beer, but not this beer--no, Helles, beautiful Helles with the sun in it....” He had forgotten Peter and Peter did not understand anything that he said, but he sat there with his eyes wide open and felt assured that it was all very useful to him and very important. The inferno continued around them, the air grew thicker with smoke, a barrel-organ began to play at the door, draughts and dominoes rattled against the long wooden tables....