"I hunted for the receipt the whole morning."
the coat unless I give him his receipt He has had several unpleasant experiences of late, and so has made it a principle never to let anything go from his shop without getting back his receipt. Where is the receipt? I hunted for it the whole morning. Lina, of course, hasn't the faintest idea where it is. When I dared to suggest in the gentlest tone in the world that she ought to know, she became impertinent. She is going to leave to-morrow. I prefer to let her have her wages until her time is up, including a Christmas gift, as I do not want to live under the same roof with such a good-for-nothing, impudent person.
Well then—please be good enough to let me know where the receipt is. I caught a good cold for lack of my fur coat. I hope you are well and found your family all right. Max.
***
Mrs. Emma Wiegand to Professor Max Wiegand
Dear Max:
The receipt is either in the chiffonier in the dressing room, second or third drawer from the top, or in my desk, right or left drawer. I could find it at once if I were there.
Lina has great faults, still she is one of the best. I doubt whether her successor will be an improvement. And now before Christmas you won't get any at all. You should have had patience with her a few weeks longer. But that does not concern me any more.
I hope you are rid of your cold. I am quite well. Emma.
***
Professor Max Wiegand to Mrs. Emma Wiegand
Dear Emma:—
I can't find the receipt either in the chiffonier or in the desk. Maybe it fell out when you were packing, and was then carelessly removed. I can think of no other explanation.
I will go to Mr. Palaschke again to-morrow and by all sorts of securities and guarantees try to wheedle my own coat out of him. I must keep strictly to my room to-day, because my cold has been complicated by a severe attack of nerves.
I had a dreadful scene with the cook yesterday. By accident I found out she had been cheating me disgracefully ever since you left. When I mentioned it to her in a most delicate way, she turned on me and told me in the coarsest, vulgarest language that I did not know the first thing about housekeeping, that it was only for your sake, dear Emma, that she had consented to work for such low wages, and she would leave the house instantly. I replied calmly but firmly that it was her duty to stay until her month was up. Then she began to scream and gesticulate and had the superlative impudence to say that you had not been able to get along with me either, and had had to leave. I lost my temper, fell into a passion, and must have told her she was a "common woman." I do not know how I could forget myself to such an extent. I did not think such language could pass my lips.
When I rang for supper two hours later I found she had already packed up all her belongings and was gone. In the kitchen I discovered a "billet-doux" teeming with orthographical mistakes, in which she threatened that in case I put the least difficulties in her way and did not give her the good reference she deserved, she would sue me for having called her a "common woman."
Now I am without any help. The janitress shines my shoes and brings me my meals from a restaurant. The food is dreadful. As you say it is quite impossible to get anybody half-way decent before Christmas or New Year. However, I have written to a dozen employment bureaus, and will go to them myself as soon as my health permits.
This has turned out to be quite a long letter, dear Emma. When a man's heart is full, his pen runs away with him.
I have a suspicion, too, that that infamous cook of a woman has gotten away with my gold cuff buttons—an heirloom from my uncle Frederick. Or, maybe, you know where they are. In that case I should be very thankful to you for information.
Goodby, dear Emma. I hope you are getting along better than I am.
Yours, Max.
***
Mrs. Emma Wiegand to Professor Max Wiegand
Dear Max:
Your description of the little unpleansantness you had with the cook struck a responsive chord in me. She often told me much worse things than she told you, but I swallowed everything, because her cooking was good. It is only the incompetents that are polite. With cooks the degree of their impudence is a fair measure of their efficiency.
Now at least you can see with what sort of things I had to cope year in, year out, and you have found out for yourself that in this sphere as in others, there are problems that all the sciences cannot solve.
From this distance I cannot give you any advice in the matters troubling you. Nor do I think I am justified in doing so after our inner relations, as you so well said in your first letter, were terminated in the most dignified manner.
As to the furrier's receipt and your cuff buttons, I wager I could find both in five minutes. You remember how often you would hunt for something high and low without being able to find it, and I would put my hand on it in an instant. Men can find a new truth now and then, but never an old button.
Since we have started a correspondence—at your inititative—I should like to ask you for something. Before I left, I forgot to ask you for the letters you wrote me during our engagement. At my request you kept them in your iron chest. They are my property, and I should like to have them back as a souvenir of a happy time. Will you please do me the favor to return them to me?
I wish you a Merry Christmas,
Professor Max Wiegand to Mrs. Emma Wiegand
My Dear Emma:—
Your wish for a Merry Christmas was not full-filled. I never spent a drearier Christmas Eve in all my life.
You will sympathize when I tell you I could not accept our friends' invitations. I should have felt like an intruder looking on at other people's family happiness. So I remained at-home, if in the present circumstances I can still speak of a home. I was as lonely in the house as in a desert. In spite of the most desperate efforts I could not get any help before January. Yesterday I could not even induce someone to come in for the day. The Janitress served me a cold supper in the early afternoon, because she could not bother about me later in the day. She wanted to be with her children and give them their gifts. A flickering oil lamp took the place of the Christmas tree, which you always decorated so charmingly and tastefully. None of your pretty surprises, either, forestalling all my wishes before I knew them myself. There was nothing on the Christmas table except my old fur coat. Mr. Palaschke at last sent it to me mollified by my prolonged prayers, entreaties, and appeals and perhaps also by the holiday mood.
The room was as cold as a barn. The fire went out and to start it again was far beyond
