Germans -- Travel -- England -- Kent -- Fiction; Humorous stories
“I, too, my dear Otto,” said she--and she spoke with great composure,
her head bent over her mending, “could give you a thousand answers to
that if I chose, such as that I desire to get this sock finished--yours,
by the way; that I have walked exactly as far as you have; that I see no
reason why you should not, as there are no servants here, fetch your own
hot water; and that your wishing or not wishing to bathe your feet has
really, if you come to think of it, nothing to do with me. But I will
confine myself just to saying that I prefer not to go.”
It can be imagined with what feelings--not mixed but unmitigated--I
listened to this. And after five years! Five years of patience and
guidance.
“Is this my Edelgard?” I managed to say, recovering speech enough for
those four words but otherwise struck dumb.
“Your Edelgard?” she repeated musingly as she continued to mend, and not
even looking at me. “Your boots, your handkerchief, your gloves, your
socks--yes----”
I confess I could not follow, and could only listen amazed.
“But not your Edelgard. At least, not more than you are my Otto.”
“But--my boots?” I repeated, really dazed.
“Yes,” she said, folding up the finished sock, “they really are yours.
Your property. But you should not suppose that I am a kind of living
boot, made to be trodden on. I, my dear Otto, am a human being, and no
human being is another human being’s property.”
A flash of light illuminated my brain. “Jellaby!” I cried.
“Hullo?” was the immediate answer from outside. “Want me, Baron?”
“No, no! No, _no_! No, NO!” I cried leaping up and dragging the door
curtain to, as though that could possibly deaden our conversation. “He
has been infecting you,” I continued, in a whisper so much charged with
indignation that it hissed, “with his poisonous----”
Then I recollected that he could probably hear every word, and muttering
an imprecation on caravans I relapsed on to the yellow box and said with
forced calm as I scrutinized her face:
“Dear wife, you have no idea how exactly you resemble your Aunt
Bockhügel when you put on that expression.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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